


people like you must be the world's loneliest creatures

by avienexjel



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Whump, Everything Is Basically Tony Stark, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Misjudged tony stark, Misunderstood Tony, Misunderstood Tony Stark, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Self-Esteem Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, Whump, abuse is not always physical, because that should be a tag too, important note:, lmaooo there are so many "tony stark has _____", why isnt the misunderstood tag a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 06:47:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 66,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avienexjel/pseuds/avienexjel
Summary: tony stark is rich and popular and an arrogant asshole.  in other words: his iq rivals einstein's, he's slept with most of his "friends" at least once, and he's so fucking lonely that sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night and cries into the cold sheets on the empty side of the bed.it's no different at SHIELD boarding school, at first.  half the student body hates him, half want to be him, nothing new.  that is, until tony accidentally breaks james barnes's prosthetic arm, and he suddenly finds the most vulnerable pieces of himself surfacing whether he wants them to or not.





	1. a tired kind of sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some prelude. welcome to tony in all his sorta-depressed, lonely glory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, what a lengthy title. anyway, i have a great announcement: I FINALLY REALIZED THAT I AM A LOT MORE PRODUCTIVE WHEN IT COMES TO WRITING FICS WHEN I DO IT ON MY PHONE (idk why). but anyway, the good thing about this is that i actually already have like six chapters lined up for this fic. so no more "dear lord what's wrong with this author and her really bad updating skills". i will be UPDATING!! actually! i'm sorry lol :') i know i always apologize for how awful i am at posting new chapters. but this time i am being proactive

 

_people like you must be the world's loneliest creatures_

_your silences, your own wilderness_

_where they all come with promises that they will be_

_the one that gets you to stay._

_people who will melt / their bones down into currency_

_and will want to conquer you but / never claim._

_you are the kind of person they chase_

_not because they actually want you_

_but to prove that they can catch you._

_what they haven't learned / are all the times you've broken your own heart_

_on their behalf, those clumsy hunters_

_who never know the right sequence of words_

_to do the job properly._

\- safia elhillo, "what you said to me instead". poem slightly altered to fit this storyline.

 

 **1.**  
  
Sometimes Tony wonders if people can feel the black trail he leaves behind him like an oil spill, thick and murky.  If that's the real reason why some of them throw nasty looks his way when he gets too close, why strangers he's never seen before sneer at him and objectify him with their probing, calculating eyes.  But then he remembers the reputation he's built for himself as slutty rich prick of the school and realizes. No one likes Tony Stark, but only the rude ones show it openly. He's good for his open wallet and skill in bed and that's about it, really.  Who wants a sixteen-year-old troublemaker with a no-filter mouth and a brain too quick for his own good? Not his parents, not his classmates, and definitely not SHIELD boarding school, which probably only accepted him because his IQ is off the charts and Howard was willing to pay anything to get rid of his only son.

It's been two and a half months since the start of the school year, now, and nothing has changed.  Becky and Annika, who particularly like Tony's brand of sweet-talk, call him up on the weekends to stop by their dorms.  And then there's Justin Hammer, who seems to alternate between trying to weasel out some cash and making fun of Tony. It doesn't bother Tony though, or at least he tells himself that.  So what if he doesn't have any real friends? He's got Rhodey, who's a senior back at home, and Pepper - who's also from home and is his age - and they don't go to SHIELD but he doesn't really need people anyway.  And besides, Becky and Annika and all their cute, slightly overly-giggly friends are fun to hang out with when he's got nothing else to do on friday nights. It's a lot better than being home, that's for sure. He can't surround himself with people and beer and laughter in that achingly empty mansion everyone says they would've died to grow up in.

In fact, Tony's on his own right now on this bright Saturday morning in November.  He's flat on his back in the rarely frequented SHIELD gardens, watching a flock of birds wing across a sky that's so blue it hurts to look at it, and feeling strangely separate from his body.  Maybe it's the absence of clouds that's making the blue seem like it could swallow him right up, as if his skin and teeth and hair would just meld into the air like vapor.

Tony shuts his eyes against the sunbeams and feels an ant crawling over his bare ankle, and feels _everything_ and _anything_ and _nothing at all_ -

"Holy shit, are you dead?"

Tony cracks one eye open to see a silhouette of a head hovering above him like satan's come to pluck him off the earth and take him to hell.  Except this person doesn't have devil horns, only sandy brown hair and a squint on his face as if he's never seen someone try to nap around campus before.

"Nope, not dead," the boy says cheerfully.  He looks to be around Tony's age, and Tony feels some vague familiarity of having spotted this face around the school before but he's not present enough to care.  "You're Tony Stark, right?"

Tony makes a face, still lying down on the grass.  "What's it to you?"

"Nothing yet," the boy replies, his expression suddenly shifting to comically serious.  "Haven't decided what I've thought about you yet. Except from other people."

"Great," Tony says, his mood worsening at the thought of what this guy could've heard.  Slut, maybe. Or - from those who had actually gotten a taste of the great Tony Stark and could therefore appreciate him more - fantastic in bed.  "Genius" was also a descriptor that a rare few remembered to mention.

"So far you seem alright, just a little grumpy.  Understandable; it's ridiculously hot for November."  The other boy flashes a quick smile. "I'm Clint Barton."

"I'd say who I am, but you seem to already know me," Tony mumbles, flinging an arm over his eyes.  Ah. So that's how he knows Clint - English class; sits in the back of the room, constantly chucking paper balls at some long-haired blonde hunk.  "What are you doing here, Barton?"

Clint frowns at him.  "Just saying hi," he says.  "And because Natasha's taken an interest in you, even though she left for some culture trip with the ballet club yesterday and won't be back till after break."

"I have no idea who that is."  Tony sighs. "Did I sleep with her or something?"

Clint recoils before laughing loudly.  "No. Natasha would never. No offense to you."

"Yeah," Tony mutters in reply.  He's too tired for this conversation, and the sky seems to be tunneling in on him, like kaleidoscope circles that are rotating closer and closer to his face and giving him an itchy sense of nausea.  When's the last time he properly slept? He'll have to check his rudimentary health monitor when he gets back to the dorm room.

"Hey, man, are you okay?"  Clint's peering closer at him all of a sudden, and fuck, Tony seriously can't remember someone having ever asked him that.  

He grunts in response, then flaps his hand.  "Always. I've just been trying to take a nap."

Clint sees it for the dismissal it is and then nods seriously, head moving out of the sun again and returning to a black silhouette.  "Alright. Take care, Stark."

Tony's too out of it to even grace Clint with a response. _Weird_ _kid,_ he thinks to himself as the sky warps and expands above him.

 

"Bruuuce," Tony hisses, nudging the elbow of his only geek-out buddy here at SHIELD High.  

"Yes, Tony?"  Bruce looks a little worn, which isn't surprising considering he's holding the attention of a very bored Tony Stark.

"I'm boored."  Tony lets out a loud groan, causing not only half the class to glance at the two but the teacher as well.

"Stark, Banner," Dr. Reed Richards says in disapproval.  "Anything you'd like to share with the class?"

"Nope, no, sorry sir," Tony bursts out quickly, drawing a few laughs from his classmates.  Richards just gives him a look, like _uh huh,_ but then decides to just continue on with his lessons.  Bruce and Tony are his best students after all, if not the best in the whole school, so he can't exactly be too displeased.

"Tony," Bruce whispers, and yup, there's the expected note of exasperation people's voices tend to have when speaking to Tony.  "You can't just do that."

"But this lesson is so _ages_ ago," Tony moans, but quietly enough that no one else but his seatmate can hear.  "I mean, really, the Carnot Cycle? Thermodynamics is middle school material, Brucie, and you know it."

Bruce doesn't respond this time, but now there's a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that makes Tony feel wonderfully accomplished.  Bruce is probably the only one who really gets this side of him, the part that consists of his intelligence and terrible social skills when it comes to the dreaded "feelings". This is the only class besides math Tony enjoys, because at least he's got his science buddy.

As the bell rings, signaling the end of AP Physics and therefore the start of lunch, Tony nudges Bruce and flashes him a grin before they part ways.  He sees Bruce sitting at a table a bit of a ways from his in the cafeteria all the time, but they don't run in similar circles outside of their lessons.  In fact, Tony thinks now as he surreptitiously glances over from his own seat in the cafeteria, Barton's one of the kids at Bruce's table.

"Stark," one of his so-called buddies says from the seat across, smirking at him.  "You alive in there? Kinda looks like you're spaced." Ty Stone points a finger at his head then mimes hitting a blunt, his grey eyes locked in on Tony's.  Tiberius Stone is yet another rich guy (but less intelligent in Tony's opinion), but his bark's much worse than his bite. Unlike in other schools, SHIELD bullies actually tend to leave him alone.  And Stone, for all his subtle remarks, knows enough to go bug other poor souls instead.

As Becky joins them at the table, Tony shoots Ty a look before slinging his arm around her.  "Hey," he says, his expression softening into something a little more real.

"Hey Tones," she chirps back.  Yeah, Becky, definitely not a bad girl.  Sometimes he wants to ask her what she's doing, hanging out with him - this crowd - but that's too personal for the easy, sometimes sexual relationship they have.  

"So, who were you busy staring at, huh?" Ty says.  He turns around, scanning the cafeteria. "Oh, I know, him."  He points at Wade Wilson, whose face is riddled with scarring.  Ty's smile widens slowly like liquid silver, sharp and cold, across his face.  "You ogling that ass, huh, Tony?"

"Shut up, Ty," Tony mutters.  He prays to god Wilson doesn't turn and look at Ty's still-extended finger, because Wade's honestly a nice guy.  Face is a little out-of-the-ordinary but who knows what happened to him. In any case, Tony likes to think he understands at least a little because he's got his own set of thick scars on his chest, even though it's not so obvious through his shirt.

Ty finally puts down his arm; Wilson hasn't even glanced over at them once.  Tony breathes a sigh of relief even though those grey eyes are still watching him gleefully.  

After a moment Ty decides Tony's not fun enough and starts up a more flirtatious conversation with Brunn, whose - despite her excessive partying - presence at this table full of douchebags is also very questionable.   _Eh,_ Tony shrugs to himself.  At least here, she's got an ally in him, even if she doesn't know it.  Ty Stone's definitely tame compared to some people he's met, even though his pushy persona's big enough that it's easy to forget. 

He finishes the rest of his meal just flirting with Becky and trying to make her laugh, twirling her hair around his fingers in the casual way he knows is cute.  Yeah, all in all, not a bad day, he thinks to himself as the bell rings once more to signal the last few periods of the day.  Becky kisses him on the cheek as he waves goodbye and walks away.

  
To be honest, even after lunch Tony's day is going pretty well, and he almost suspects he might be lucky enough to get to his dorm and crawl into bed without anything happening to him today.  This is what he treasures here, at boarding school - how there is no yelling when he gets home _(Tony you fucking piece of shit, you worthless useless piece of shit, what the fuck are you good for?  Nothing)_ , and no creepy Obadiah _(Tony, my boy... leave the business to the businessmen)_ and no pills and no bare echoing off the wall when he tries to talk and no sharp bolts of fear when he sees the empty tumblers all collected on the table.  He has a chance to be fine here, he does, and ok so it's not as great as he wanted but it's enough.

Sometimes Tony finds himself wishing he'd been born better, someone kinder and stronger and more loved.  They always say you'll find friends and family in the people you treat right after all, so maybe he's been living wrong all along.  But still - is it, well, is it too much to hope that this day will go picture perfect, the way many days don't?

Apparently so, because just half an hour after the end of school, Tony breaks James Barnes's prosthetic arm in a moment of blurry misguided justice.  And everything goes to shit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm bad at ending chapters lol...i'm flowing along and suddenly everything just becomes abrupt and dramatic and cut short. :') i despise this ending so much ajjfjdjejak but i want to move along with this story so haha...oh wells. pls forgive me  
> -  
> anyhow, next chapter, the arm breaking.


	2. broken arms and big mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony breaks bucky's arm because he panics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know anything about prosthetics. can you break a prosthetic by doing this? i don't know. just go along with it...

 

_dots and dashes on the wall;_

_you tell me about the falls_

_of kingdoms and champions_

_you've seen a thousand times before_

\- "dots and dashes" by silversun pickups

 

**2.**

 

Tony doesn't mean to break Barnes's arm, he swears.  But it happens anyway, and it starts like this:

Shy, adorable Bruce Banner with the head of floppy brown curls is getting ganged up on in the hallway.  By Ty Stone, and a couple of his other lackeys.  Becky's there, and she's shouting at them to stop, but no one's listening to her.

Tony's about to go up, go and confront them because it's  _Bruce_ and Tony knows intuitively that the guy hasn't done anything.  But then there's a movement from beside him, and then James Barnes is storming up the hallway hissing, "What the  _fuck_ do you think you're doing."  

Tony follow him, but James seems to have it under control.  He melds into the rest of the gathering crowd as the boy with the prosthetic arm continues, "Stone.  Something you think you should be doing right now?"

Ty sneers, his face contorting.  "Yeah, Barnes?  You gonna tell me?"

"Yeah," James responds, his eyes dark.  "You should be fucking off, that's what."

It's funny actually, because Ty throws a punch first, not Barnes.  Then the two boys are slinging fists at each other in the hallway and Bruce is scrambling back with his glasses in his hand and looking a cross between angry, relieved, and petrified.  Barnes is seething and Ty's shouting, something like  _"You don't belong here, fag!"_ Tony's blood turns cold in his veins but he can't help but watch as Barnes spits back furiously,  _"Don't - use - that - word,_ you ugly piece of  _shit."_

Tony notes a few goody-goodies in the back slinking off, presumably to tell a teacher, but it doesn't matter much to him until Barnes flings an arm at  _Becky_ of all people and says, "Tell me when you want a break, Stone.  Your blonde little slut's waiting with her legs open for you when you decide you've had enough."  In the corner of his eye, Tony sees Becky flinch, knows Barnes's jibe has hit close to home, knows that's what her mother likes to say when she goes out of the house.  And maybe it's because he's high strung with the knowledge that this was almost a perfect day or maybe it's because Barnes doesn't know  _shit_ about Becky or their crowd, but suddenly he's charging forward into the brawl and slugging Barnes in the face.

"You don't call her a slut," he yells, and James is so surprised - arms falling to their sides - that for a second Tony thinks the fight's over.  But then the other boy reels back and slams his fist into Tony's cheekbone and Tony thinks,  _Fuck, nevermind,_ as he staggers backward and almost slips to the floor.  

He spots Ty out of the corner of his eye, looking relieved to just not be the one getting pummeled anymore, and he'd roll his eyes if Barnes's knuckles didn't crack into his jaw right at that very moment, sending him to the floor.  Barnes bends over and swings again, and Tony feels the blood coming sluggish and thick from his nose.  It doesn't look like the other boy is going to stop, so in one fluid motion Tony corkscrews around on his ass and swipes Barnes's feet off the floor.  As James falls, he rolls to the side and grabs one of Banner's textbooks like a sword.

And all he can think about is getting it to  _stop,_ because all of a sudden his insides are hot and shaky, and he barely even thinks about what he's going to do before he's bringing the edge of the textbook down onto Barnes's prosthetic arm.  And then again. 

On the second swing there's this awful grating crunch, because Tony's time in the workshop has actually made him pretty strong, and Barnes's clunky arm looks to have been made by HammerTech or some shit company like that.  (SI does have a minor prostheses line, but since Howard focuses mostly on providing weaponry to the army, the prices are pretty damn expensive.)

There's a pause and a collective gasp that Tony hears as if he were underwater, and he watches numbly as all the rage drains from James's face to be replaced by horror.  "Stark," he says slowly.  "You...my arm."

"Shit," Tony says, now that what he's done is glaring him in the face.  The words get caught in his throat, like sludge.  "Shit, um, I'm so fucking sorry Barnes, I didn't mean to, I..."  But does it matter if he'd meant to?  He's broken someone's prosthetic.  

Most of the faces in the crowd are curious, or just shocked, and some are even gleeful, but Tony sees the accusing gazes as well.  The ones that say,  _what the fuck have you done?_ He looks at Bruce, who meets his eye before glancing away.

"Daddy's little rich boy," Barnes snorts, but he's still pale and unsteady.  "Of course you didn't  _mean_ to.  People like you have Daddy's money and Daddy's lawyers to back them up, so why would  _you_ ever have to worry about consequences?"

Tony would like to shoot back that money doesn't equate to happiness, but he knows he would just sound like a brat so he pushes down the bitterness swelling in his chest.  "I can...get you another arm," he offers quietly, ashamedly.  "Um, my dad won't let me use a Stark Industries patented prosthetic but I can, um, make you one."

Barnes just looks at him with utter loathing.  "Thanks, but  _no thanks,"_ he spits out.  "A store-bought IQ doesn't mean you can just waltz into a lab and build an arm, Stark."  There's a low chuckle from the crowd at that, even though everyone  _knows -_ _should_ know - Tony's intelligence wasn't paid for by Howard.  The tabloids, they wouldn't hesitate to bash on Tony's stupidity if that were the case.

"I'm sorry," Tony says, because there's nothing else he can think to say.  But the words sound stilted and false, even to his own ears.  As he sits there, struggling to find something that would possibly express how fucking sorry he is, a sandy-brown haired boy comes forward and helps Barnes to his feet, saying, "Let's go."  With a jolt, Tony recognizes the other guy to be Clint Barton from the gardens, and now Clint is glancing at him with disgust in his eyes.  Bruce Banner gathers up all of his textbooks into his backpack and then scurries off behind them, because apparently James is part of their little table group.

 _Wow, Stark, you've really fucked things up.  Like usual,_ Tony thinks to himself as the crowd - half of them watching him almost nervously as they go - begins to disperse.  Ty, on the other hand, lets out a loud whistle even as he's still trying to stop the blood leaking from his own nose.  "Thanks, Tones," he says, clapping Tony on the back.  "Didn't know you had it in ya."  Ty laughs as he shakes his arm out, turning to leave.  "Smart move, using the textbook."  Tony can't even muster the strength to reply and just watches Stone go before leaning against the lockers, squeezing his eyes shut to make everything go away.

"Hey."  He looks up to see Becky, sweet beautiful Becky, looking at him with something like sorrow in her eyes.  "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"I know," Tony says tiredly.  He doesn't want to lose her too.  "I'm sorry about it, I'll try to see if Banner can get scans of Barnes's arm so I can build another."

"No," Becky says with a surprising amount of force.  "I meant...defending me."  She touches his face; her fingers are cool against his aching skin.  "People call me a slut all the time, Tones, you know that."  A corner of her mouth quirks up humorlessly.

"Doesn't make it okay," Tony mutters sulkily.  Becky laughs a little, but just as quickly sobers up again.  

"Will you be okay?" she says, softly.  "Your cheek and jaw are already really swollen."

"I'm fine," Tony says.  He looks at her, this girl who he's only known for two and a half months and has already had sex with twice.  The blonde curls framing her face make her look Southern and pretty.  "Nothing I'm not used to."

Becky can make of that what she will, but for now she just looks at him with her grey-blue eyes and runs a hand through his hair and they stay like this, her head on his chest, until the teachers arrive.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment? tell me what you thought haha? just fyi, eventually tony will start actually getting in with bucky and his group. for now, though...


	3. a matter of house and home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is more of a filler chapter, but anyway - tony goes home for thanksgiving break and sees his mamma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know nothing about prosthetics. i don't know any technical-sounding terminology. building a prosthetic probably requires way (WAY) more research than i imply, so please forgive me... i don't mean any offense!! i really am just clueless. also, i used google translate for the little italian that's in here, so feel free to correct me if it's totally off.
> 
> italian words/phrases:  
> *mi dispiace = i'm sorry  
> *bambino mio = my child  
> *mamma = mama

 

 

 _but we can't change the weather_  
_when the weather's come and gone_

 _-_ "party favor", billie eilish

 

**3.**

 

For the next week and a half before spring break, Bruce refuses to talk to Tony about anything besides class materials or borrowing supplies.  On the last day of school, just as the bell's ringing to signal the beginning of lunch, Tony tries one last time and says, "Bruce,  _please."_

With a sigh, Bruce removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.  "Tony."

"Can I just talk to you?  For one second?"

"Listen," Bruce says as the classroom empties out and leaves them standing alone.  "I'm sorry I've been...distant lately, but it's just a bit much to get over.  Bucky's my friend, and he lost his arm in a pretty bad accident two years ago.  It took him a long time to get used to wearing a prosthetic, and you took that from him like it was nothing."  

"I know, I'm  _sorry,"_ Tony insists after he realizes "Bucky" must mean James.  Shame puddles heavy in his gut, but there's also something inside him that wants Bruce to know he didn't do it on purpose.

"No, Tony."  Bruce gives a half-smile that doesn't reach his eyes.  "I know you're sorry.  And I know you were just probably full of adrenaline and aimed for the thing that would hurt most without really thinking about it.  But people like me - people like Bucky - don't have money we can just...throw around.  He can't just up and buy another arm like that.  The family he lives with can't afford it."

Tony notes the weird phrasing of the last sentence but decides wisely not to comment on it.  "Okay," he says softly.  "Yeah.  I fucked up, I know."  Bruce's eyes soften a smidgen.  "But I just...I'm smart.  I know a bit about prostheses.  I can, um, make Barnes an arm.  Better than that HammerTech junk he was wearing before.  I just need you to get me a scan and some measurements of his arm and the old prosthetic that I, um, ruined."  Tony swallows, realizing his hasty speech isn't as refined as he intended.  He just hopes he hasn't offended Bruce in any way.  

The other boy looks at him.  "I thought you were just saying that," Bruce says slowly.  "You'd actually make Bucky an arm?"

"Well."  Tony shrugs uncomfortably.  "Thanksgiving break is coming up, and my house has a workshop and a lab I can use."  He doesn't mention both are strictly Howard's; he can probably predict when his father will be out of the mansion anyway.

Bruce hums softly.  "I'm not sure if Bucky will accept this though.  He's still really upset, Tony."

"I know," Tony says.  "Don't...don't tell him I'm doing this.  Just get me what I need and I'll give the arm to you after break and you can help him put it on.  Don't tell him where you got it from."

"Why would you do it then?" Bruce says.  "Just as an anonymous gift?"

"Well, yeah."  If even his science buddy thinks this little of Tony - that he  _needs_ his name to be plastered all over his good deeds - then...wow.  His confidence curdles in his stomach, frail and crumbly.  "I damaged his old arm, so I should make him a new one, right?"

Bruce shakes his head, but all the wariness has left his eyes.  "I know what Bucky's prosthesis meant to him, and what it symbolized," he says.  "I know what it feels like to lose...to lose things.  So I can't forgive you yet.  But you're capable of caring, and not a lot of people realize that."

Tony swallows and looks down.  

"I'll have the scans and everything to you by tonight," Bruce says as he slings his bag over his shoulder.  "Don't forget to check your email."

"Have a good break," Tony calls tentatively to the other boy's back as the door opens.

"You, too, Tony," Bruce says quietly before the door shuts closed again.

Still standing next to the tables, Tony shoves his books quickly into his backpack and hurries over to the exit.  It's weird, but his mood is already lighter.  Maybe he can still make things right.  Maybe if he makes Barnes his new arm, Bruce will like him again and Clint will stop glaring and all their other friends will stop pinning him down with their eyes in the hallways.  

He can already hear Howard saying,  _Oh, so that's what you're doing it for, Anthony?  To feel better about the piece of shit you are?_

Tony closes his eyes.  Thankfully, the hall is empty.   _Shut up,_ he whispers to the ghost of his father that nestles in his brain.   _Leave me alone._ He allows himself a moment to sag against the door and just breathe, the sounds of teenagers hooting and shouting traveling faintly down the corridor.  Then he adjusts the strap of his bag and heads down the hall toward lunch and Becky and Tiberius Stone.

 

Everything between after school to his first step into the mansion is a blur.  He vaguely remembers, as if it were a dream, the gold and red and pink sunset filtering through the hazy clouds from his window seat on the plane, and thinking about how November skies always seem to be the prettiest.  He remembers calling his personal driver to take him home, and the yellow streetlights and the familiarity of the streets and highways.  But nothing really registers until he enters the dark, air-conditioned house at one am in the morning.  No one is waiting for him, and he doesn't expect anyone to be.  He hadn't planned to come home at all until Barnes's arm, in fact.  He's left a voicemail on the answering machine here telling his family he was coming home, but knowing them, it's probably still sitting on it unheard.

Quietly, Tony creeps up to his room, navigating the winding staircases and hallways he knows so well, even in the dark.  The sudden exhaustion he feels hits him out of nowhere, and he doesn't even bother brushing his teeth or changing his clothes.  Tony falls into bed, crawling under the cold covers shivering, until he warms up and his heartbeat slows and sleep takes him away to a far off place.

 

In the morning, Tony showers quickly and throws on a long-sleeve and sweatshirt before ambling, in slippers, down to the kitchen.  It's 10am, so it's likely his parents have already eaten breakfast.  There is still no one around, which is the downside of living in such a huge place - anyone could be anywhere, and now there's nobody to notice he's home.

As he sits on the sofa in the cosiest of the three living rooms, spooning cereal into his mouth and watching TV absentmindedly, he hears a sudden gasp and then -  _"Anthony?"_

Tony turns.  He sees Maria in the doorway, his beautiful motherwho had tried as best she could to love him.  She's even frailer now than three months ago, probably because of this empty house and the relaxant drugs he knows she does.   _"Mamma,"_ he says, and feels all his barricades crumbling down.

Mother and son embrace in the middle of the room.  "I've missed you, _mio An_ _tonio,"_ his mom whispers into his ear.  "How come you didn't call, telling me you were coming home?  I thought I'd have to spend Thanksgiving alone."

Tony feels a pang knowing that his mother had purposely excluded her husband from her statement.  "I left a message on the voicemail machine," he says softly.  "I guess no one listened to it."

Maria cups her son's face in her hands.   _"Mi dispiace._ I'm sorry,  _Antonio."_

"No mama, it's alright."  Tony gives his mother a brief kiss on the cheek.  "Where's Dad?"

Maria's expression flickers a bit.  "Out.  With Obadiah.  Probably drinking already; they're celebrating.  Stocks are higher than they've ever been in the past ten years."

"Wow," Tony says, because he really is impressed.  But then he realizes with a jolt that there's time for him to work on Barnes's arm if Howard's partying.  "When will he be back?"

Maria looks more closely at her son.  "Probably not until after midnight," she says.  "What will you be doing?"

"Working on something," Tony says, and because it's his mom and he won't hide things from her, "in Dad's lab.  It's really important and it's to help a friend."

"Alright,  _bambino mio,"_ his mother says, touching his face almost reverently like she hadn't expected to see him back until summertime.  It makes him feel guilty, that through trying to avoid Howard he's left his mom alone as well.  "But be careful.  If he comes home early, I'll come get you."

"I love you," Tony says, tasting the words in his mouth and finding he means it.  Starks, they're not big on sentiment.  Then he turns and goes quickly back to his room to get his laptop and check for Bruce's email.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> italian words/phrases:  
> *mi dispiace = i'm sorry  
> *bambino mio = my child  
> *mamma = mama  
> -  
> aghh i can't wait to post the next chapter!! if only because this was so filler that i couldn't use amazing song lyrics for this chap, and so i'm eager to post lyrics for the next one  
> -  
> p.s. howard's in the next chapter!!1!1!! we all love some good ol' familial angst


	4. out of company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hi pepper! hi rhodey! oh, hi, howard stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok lol firstly i edited the chapter 3 title and made it 4's instead because "out of company" is really ironic and i couldn't resist...  
> -  
> 1\. so i've seen a couple comments saying that bucky/everyone shouldn't have overreacted, since he did call becky some pretty vulgar things after all. here's my opinion: in his defense, he was only standing up for bruce. and his prosthetic getting wrecked by a textbook is,, not the best deal. imo they all definitely have the right to be mad, although i also feel insanely bad for tony because (and i'm not even just talking this fanfic's tony anymore) hE aLWaYs tRiES sO hARd and deserves some slack  
> 2\. one of you, @michehp, was all like "i'm already dreading howard catching him in the lab." yo, that's actually such a good idea and i can't believe that idea never even popped into my mind. but nah, you meet howard in a different way. see if you like this better.  
> 3\. GUYS i'm thinking of making this stuckony?? please comment if you support this idea. idk. i'm heavily leaning towards stuckony.  
> 4\. thank you all so much for the nice comments :') it's a real ego-booster but in a great way hahaha. constructive criticism is welcome, as always, because i don't know what i'm doing and i'm basically just writing because i love tony so much

 

 

_every night, i live and die_

_spill my guts beneath the outdoor light_

_it's just another graceless night_

 

\- lorde, "perfect places"

 

**4.**

 

On Saturday, Tony goes off to see Pepper and Rhodey, since even though their breaks don't coincide with his, it's a weekend.  "I missed you Honeybear," he says into Rhodey's armpit, his voice muffled.  "And you too, Peps."  Virginia Potts just watches the two with a fond smile as she waits for Tony's koala-hug.

"So, how's SHIELD High?" his best friends say in sync, and Tony giggle-laughs.  He's so happy, to be back with the two people he loves most in the world besides his mother; his soul feels light and airy and expansive underneath his skin.

"It's okay," he says, "not close to anyone though."

Rhodey frowns.  "I wish we could be there with you," Pepper tells him.

Tony shrugs, and smiles.  "Me too."  He makes a face.  "Right now Bruce - the super smart science-y dude I was telling you about - is mad at me.  But all my other friends are fine."  By  _'friends',_ he kind of just means the people he always talks to but doesn't really like, but whatever.

"What happened with you and Bruce?" Rhodey asks, his eyes narrowing.  "Did he do something to you?"

"No, no," Tony says hastily.  "Uh, nothing.  I just...broke his friend's prosthetic."  His smile turns into more of a wince.  "I didn't mean to though, I swear."

"You  _broke_ someone's  _prosthetic?"_ Pepper says loudly.   _"Why?"_ she demands, almost as an afterthought.

"He called Becky a slut."  Tony sighs.  "I just got angry, I don't know."

Rhodey shakes his head, but there's amusement in his expression now.  "Only you, Tony.  I won't say the guy deserved that extreme of an action, but he sounds like an asshole."

"Uh, Barnes is, he's an okay guy, I think," Tony says, ducking his head.  "He was trying to defend someone else and just so happened to be a dick.  That's all."

Rhodey just hums in response.  "So, Becky, huh?"

Tony shakes his head.  "She's not a, not a crush or anything.  Just a friend."  There must be something reflected in his eyes when he says  _friend,_ serious and undercut with warmth, because Rhodey and Pepper just smile fondly at him and nod.  They're both taller than him, especially because Pepper loves heels, so they both reach up and tousle his hair easily.

"So what are you in the mood for, huh, Tones?"  Rhodey slings an arm around him.  "We've only got today to catch up."  Pepper and Rhodes have both got pre-break testing this week, so they can't afford to spend tomorrow - Sunday - out too, even though they both constantly remind him that they wish they could.

"Movie?" Tony says, and his face lights up a little with eagerness.  "I've been wanting to see the new Star Wars flick for a while."

 _"Nerd,"_ Rhodey grins, and Tony shoves him away.  

"Star Wars is  _good,_ you dick, and you know it."

Rhodey crinkles his nose.  "Yeah, but only the old ones.  Now they're just trying to make money."

The shorter boy huffs and looks at Pepper, who is offering no backup, just watching them both with a small amused grin.  "Okay, fine, you might be right, but this was a  _childhood_ love, Rhodey.  Don't take that away from me.  Plus, Luke is still alive, and he's Anakin's _son_."

"Wasn't planning to," the African American teen says, backing down.  He laughs fondly at his best friend.  "And of course you'd go just to see a Skywalker, even if Luke's father was all old and ugly when he died.  You've always had a thing for broody long-haired types."

"If you want to go see it, the next showing's in twenty minutes," Pepper points out, effectively interrupting them, and Tony yelps and grabs them both.

"Someone, Pepper loveofmylife, please please get us a ride," he says, and tilts his head up as the first raindrop of the day hits him on the nose.  The sky is a beautiful grey, not the concrete grey of the sidewalk they're standing on but this cool, melting, silver-flecked dreaming color.  Pepper pulls out her phone again to call a rideshare service while Rhodey wraps an arm around the shorter boy's waist, and Tony sticks his tongue out to catch another drop as it starts to sprinkle lightly.  He's suddenly reminded of how when it rains during the night, raindrops glow golden when they pass down in front of streetlights.

Rhodey rests his chin atop his best friend's head.  "Should've brought an umbrella to protect you," he murmurs, and Tony can feel the other boy smirking into his hair.

He realizes in this moment - like an epiphany - that he is happy, here and now, and as Pepper lifts her head and waits for their Uber to round the corner, he tugs Rhodey even closer and puts his head on his best friend's chest and tries to lock this feeling inside himself.  He tries to remember the mother with the red umbrella and the baby carriage across the street, and the man in blue suit that rushes by them, and the Los Angeles buildings that seem to pierce the sky like large needles.  His love for his friends comes into sharp focus with startling clarity like a head rush, and Tony closes his eyes and shuts them tight to save this snapshot moment in his mind forever and ever.  

"Uber's here," Pepper says, and they all rush - sky spitting out licks of rain - over to the car idling at the curb, Tony laughing as a particularly large drop hits Pepper in the eye and she shrieks something considered unsuitable when in public. 

"That was inappropriate," he shouts at her, and she says something even more unsuitable, which the Uber driver kindly ignores to chuckle at them instead.

The smell of the rain permeates his clothing and clings to him, fills his brain with a loose, fluttery happiness, and Tony can't help but think that as long as he's got his best friends, life can throw anything it wants at him.  SHIELD is insignificant, Barnes and his friends are insignificant, nothing matters but the few people he loves that make life worth staying alive for.  For them, he can take it.  For this, it's worth it.  And he might get really sad sometimes, the kind of sad where it hooks into your chest and grapples around your throat and the ache floods into you so hard you could easily drown, but the tiny raft his mother and friends provide him is just enough to keep his head above surface.  And fuck, isn't that what matters most?

The car jolts hard over a bump in the road and the driver grunts out a quick apology as Pepper falls into Tony falls into Rhodey.  "Get off me, you heavy lump," Rhodey says, but there's no heat behind his words and Tony can hear the laughter in his voice.

"It's all Pepper, she's on top of me, blame her," Tony says, and pokes the redhead in her side.  "See, squishy.  All her fault."

"I know both of you are currently broke and I'm not going to pay for tickets if you continue," Pepper warns him.  "What do you say, Mr. Stark?"

"No, no, I'm sorry," Tony blurts out, and pouts at her as he adds, "Ms. Potts", as is tradition.

 _"There_ we go," Pepper says cheerfully, and then the car hits another bump and Tony's head collides with Rhodey's chin.

"Ow, you idiot!" the older boy says, even as he's patting his friend's head to make sure there's no damage.

"'M fine, Rhodey, jeez."

"It's not my fault you have no regard for safety whatsoever.  You're not even wearing your damn seatbelt.  Put it on now, Tony."

"But then I'll just have to take it off when we get there!" Tony protests.

Rhodey levels him with a glare.  "Do you want me to do it for you?  Because that'll just make things more embarrassing for you."

"Fine,  _fine,_ old man."

After a few minutes, the Uber pulls up in front of the local cinema and they pile out.  The driver calls, "Enjoy your movie!" and then actually laughs at them.  "You bunch are an entertaining sort."

"Thanks!" Tony replies enthusiastically, even as Rhodey and Pepper roll their eyes and pull him along.  

"Hurry up,  _old man,"_ Rhodey says, throwing Tony's own words back at him.  "Or do I have to carry you?"

The shorter boy flips him off as they head to the box office to collect tickets then enter the building, Tony vibrating with a sort of adorable glee that has his best friends secretly cooing at him.  All in all, Tony thinks as they settle into cushiony seats in the very middle of the theatre, it's been a good day.  And he's glad he's alive for days like these.

 

 On the last day of break - a Friday that has the sky emptying rain onto the streets and buildings, unusual but not unexpected for the first day of December in Malibu, California - Howard talks to Tony for the first time.  He'd first spotted his son Tuesday morning in the kitchen, but they hadn't talked.  They don't often talk, Tony notes absentmindedly.  And when they do, it's in yelling, like a secret language everyone can hear.

Anyway, he's sitting at the counter with a snug black AC/DC sweatshirt on, his bare legs swinging back and forth as he cups his coffee mug gratefully, when Howard steps imposingly into the room.  A tie is neat around his father's neck and a similar coffee cup is in his hand.  Howard regards his son with a chill in his eyes that Tony's gotten accustomed to over his sixteen long years.

The bag clenched in Howard's other hand rattles, and Tony's eyes shift down to it.  There's something sick and eager in his father's eyes, something scary that isn't just bitter rage but  _more,_ and Tony's sixteen years old and  _strong_ but still he cowers back, just a little, on the stool.

"You know what this is, boy?" Howard says, clearly tired of waiting for Tony to ask.  Like father, like son; the older man's never been patient.

"No, sir," Tony says.  He eyes the bag.  Maybe one of his dad's inventions?  But what?

Howard places the bag on the table, clearly relishing in the tense, wary silence that's arisen between them.  "It's a mutt," he says, finally.  "A useless, filthy, piece of junk mutt."

Tony doesn't understand, but he's too smart to say this.  His father's sadistic, but the man wouldn't kill a dog just to, what, make an example for Tony, right?  So instead, he waits and holds his tongue, and watches as Howard neatly draws a clunky silver dog from the grocery bag.

 _Oh._ Tony's blood freezes in his veins, shatters to pieces, and he wonders why he isn't bleeding yet.

"What are you going to do with it," he says carefully.   _He's mine,_ he wants to snarl, but forces himself to refrain.  He remembers Company - yeah, that's what little lonely ten year old Tony Stark had named his dog, have a laugh - very clearly.  He'd built the puppy as a kid, in order to have someone, something to love and talk to, in order to have something love back.  The other children at school thought he talked weirdly and was snooty for always using "big words", and/or their parents despised his family.  The teachers thought he was incredibly bright but problematic and withdrawn.  So, he turned to what he knew best - scrap metal and wiring - for a solution.  It wasn't until he was thirteen that he learned how to be popular, when he learned what being "liked" meant.

In any case, Company could jump, and run, and play ball, even if he couldn't bark or anything: Tony had thought installing pre-recorded noises would make his shame too real.

But that fucking metal dog is Tony's, even if he finally put Company away when he was fourteen and felt too old and had met Pepper and Rhodey by then anyway.  It's a painful reminder of how empty and vast his childhood had been, but it was also the best thing about it after Jarvis died.

"How did you manage to keep this piece of shit away from me?" Howard says slowly, his voice a mocking drawl, and Tony realizes his father must be drunk, or at least buzzed enough.  Normally Howard's much more composed, much less loose with the vulgarities.  In front of him, his dad is dangling the dog by a front leg.  "Is this supposed to be a  _dog,_ Anthony?  Is this your  _pet?"_

Tony just sits, and looks at his father, and waits.  There is nothing he can do but let what will happen happen, and he doesn't really care, anyway.   _He doesn't care._ Meanwhile, Howard finds the panel on the dog's underbelly and pries it off.  Then he flicks the switch to on, and Company's eyes light up.  His tail wags and his mouth opens at Tony, because even though he technically only has the most rudimentary of chips for a brain, of course he recognizes his creator.  

Tony feels sick.  At thirteen, he'd upgraded Company's chip so that the dog could actually respond to outside stimuli, even though he's nowhere near as advanced as anything Tony's developed recently.  Yet because of that...the dog has real animal emotion, or at least acts like it does, even if...  Even if...  He knows what's coming next, feels the hollowing out of his gut, even if it still doesn't prepare him for the quick way Howard rips Company's tail from his body.

(The thing is, almost nobody ever understood why Tony's tech was and is so precious to him, not even Rhodey or Pepper.  Sure, Rhodey - being fairly tech-savvy as well - tried to get it, he really did, but only Jarvis seemed to really comprehend the way his charge felt about his inventions, the way a mother should care for her child.  And now, in this moment, Tony realizes that Howard must know how he feels.  His father _must_ know - they're more similar than he'd like to admit - and yet here he is, killing his son in one action, the background music of wires ripping apart setting the mood.)

Company's eyes shut in pain, and it's  _all fake,_ it's  _all_ just stupid actions Tony programmed into him to make him more  _real,_ but as Howard tears another limb slowly off the dog, Tony can't help the word that bursts from his mouth:  _"Stop!"_

Howard looks at him.  It's a hazy look, the kind where the person looking at you is not really seeing you.  Briefly Tony wonders if another reason why his father seems to hate him is because he looks a lot like his grandfather, and only a little bit like his actual dad.

"What did you say, boy?" Howard says calmly, so calmly it could be mistaken for kindness in a different situation, as Company's eyes flutter and his mouth snaps open and closed jerkily in a mechanical rendition of pain.

"I told you to  _stop,"_ Tony says angrily, and he reaches for his dog.

Howard shoves his arm away.  "No," he says, and his face becomes heavier.  "Why should you deserve anything, you worthless piece of shit?  You know what your grandfather used to do when I brought vermin like this home - live ones, not this crappy waste of mechanisms?"  Tony's father forces his face closer to his son's.  His breath is a thick mix of alcohol and coffee.  "He'd shoot them  _dead,_ Anthony.  And I was a better son than you'll ever be.  So what makes you think you deserve shit, huh?  What makes you think you deserve  _this?"_ Howard's eyes flash; there is something psychotic there that Tony isn't sure he's imagining, and it frightens him.  "Those animals always loved me, boy!" his father snarls, his voice not quite a shout but still achingly loud.  "But  _you -_ you have to  _make_ your friends out of the scrap metal I throw away, because nobody and  _nothing_ will ever want  _you."_

"You're only pissed because you wouldn't have been able to make that when you were ten," Tony mutters, his heart black in his chest.  He hates this whole fucking family - his grandfather, whose beatings and chilly fury made his father what he is; Howard, who is not violent but is cruel all the same.

Howard's face closes off in less than a blink of an eye.  For a long moment, he just looks at the mangled, sparking dog gripping by its throat in his white-knuckled hand.  "What did you say?"  His voice is quiet, crazed.

"Shut up," Tony whispers.

Howard spins around in one fluid motion and hurls the puppy as hard as he can against the wall.  Company  _breaks_ under the impact, falling to pieces on the tiled floor.  The older man shakes his finger in Tony's face, point having been made, and says coldly: "Don't you  _ever_ speak to me like that again."  Then he straightens his tie, drinks the rest of his coffee as Tony sits still as stone on the stool, and slams the cup down in the kitchen sink.

The door cracks hard as Tony's father exits the house, and Tony can almost feel the entire mansion shake under his body.

Even after Howard's car leaves the massive driveway, the gates closing promisingly shut behind him, Tony stays silent and still on his chair at the counter, Company's body just visible from his vantage point.  His sobs - when they come - are paper-thin and noiseless, the tears glistening on his cheeks the only evidence of the ache bone-deep inside his body.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, howard's a douche. but i did want to add a tidbit about his own father being angry trash too, cus more often than not, anger comes from somewhere else. obviously that doesn't excuse the cold way he treats tony, but i wanted to just add a small explanatory glimpse. also skskskkdkdksks it's only been 4 chapters i cannot WAIT until we reach winter break (coming soon, because i suck at fillers) cus then we really get into tony and the rest of our faves interacting with each other!!
> 
> p.s. i was such a star wars fan when i was a kid. anakin was the best thing that ever happened to me, then obi wan, then luke. surprisingly, i was never as obsessed with han solo even though i loved him as well


	5. ribs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow, a return to school! steve, of course, can't help but stand up for his long-time best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk, i guess i just have a thing for people yelling at tony :') also last chapter is really gross i just realized... the tony/pepper/rhodey interaction is stretched wayyy too thin & i do that a lot yike  
> -  
> sorry for being gone so long! i was on a cruise, and i don't really get wifi at home very often  
> -  
> once again, thank you all for the amazing comments you're all fantastic people. also @limeofmagiclimo and @dirkapitation, it always amuses me when i see a string of comments in my inbox from the same account

  

 

 

_this dream isn't feeling sweet_

_we're reeling through the midnight streets_

_and i've never felt more alone_

_it feels so scary, getting old_

_-_ lorde, "ribs"

 

 

**5.**

 

At school, Tony wordlessly hands Bruce the arm.  It's in a Macy's gift box, unassuming and wrapped with a bright pink bow (Tony couldn't resist).  Bruce takes it and looks at him, and maybe sees something Tony hadn't been able to see in the mirror, and asks him gently if he's alright.

"Always," Tony replies without even thinking about it, and pats the box in Bruce's arms.  "Make sure to support the weight from the bottom.  Instructions are in the box; help him with it.  Just call me if he needs any adjustments."

"Thanks, Tony," Bruce says.  That discerning look is still in his eyes, and it makes Tony uncomfortable.  "I'm really grateful you did this.  I'm glad you're trying."

The other boy just shakes his head.  "My fault, I owe it to James to atone," he says.  "But if he calls Becky a slut again, I'll tear his human arm off instead."

Bruce quirks a little smile.  "A bit too soon," he says simply, and then walks away, box cradled in his arms.  Tony watches him go, and breathes relief into the air the way Jarvis used to let out the smoke from his lungs after taking his pipe from his mouth.  

Tony hopes Barnes likes it; he really does.  It's the least he owes, really.

The thought of the arm reminds him of the way Howard had ripped Company limb from limb like he was a constructor tearing down a wall, all easy savage yank and pull.  A bitter taste fills his throat, like pumpkin seeds and motor oil, and Tony turns tail to go up the stairs to first period.  Maybe he'll see Becky, or Christie, or Annika or Thalia or Sage or Lina or Fay, and they'll chat with him and make him laugh with their sweet sarcasm and he'll forget the coldness of Thanksgiving break.  

 

 

However, right before he enters into Mr. Coulson's classroom - a blandly sarcastic but surprisingly great teacher (and also school counselor) - a hand taps him on the shoulder and a blonde boy who's at least three inches taller than him says icily, "I'm Bucky Barnes's best friend.  Meet me during lunch in the art room.  I want to talk."

_Great,_ _just what I need.  Big, blonde, and beefy,_ Tony thinks and isn't sure whether to roll his eyes or weep as he nods stiffly and then shoulders his way into the classroom.

Another angry friend ready to beat him up.  And it's only the first day back from break.

 

The bell rings for lunchtime and Tony is, for lack of a better word, twitchy.  It'd taken his mind a good half hour to recognize who the blonde was, but when he had, his eyes had almost popped out of his skull.

Steve Rogers.  As in, shrimpy Steve Rogers.  As in, asthma-attack, flu-catastrophic, detention-every-other-day Steve Rogers of sophomore year.  

He's...had a glo-up, Tony has to admit to himself as he shoulders his bag and makes his way down to the art room rather than the cafeteria as he normally would.  _Really filled out.  Into someone who could easily beat me up if he tried._

After a moment of indecision, Tony carefully opens the door to find Steve working on an art piece in the far corner of the room.  The other boy's got a smear of paint on his cheek and is wearing a colorful apron that Tony is pretty sure was once white underneath.  "Uh," he starts.  "First of all, I want to say sorry.  I swear, breaking Barnes's arm was a total accident."

Steve looks up at him and then casually, slowly gets up, takes his time washing his supplies and untying his apron and lathering each finger with soap.  

After minutes of just standing there and slowly shriveling more and more into himself, Tony finally sighs and says, "Okay, if you were planning to beat me up after you finished, could you just get it over with now?  I need to get lunch, and the lines are always long."

Steve finally turns to him and says with a wry twist of the mouth that doesn't reach his eyes, "What makes you think I want to do that?"

"Umm, because I broke your bestie's metal arm?" 

Steve finally finishes drying his hand on a paper towel and comes over, getting right into Tony's face.  Obviously he doesn't know what personal space is.  In a different circumstance/universe, Tony would be totally turned on.

"Listen, Stark," Steve says, "You were probably too busy last year to notice a guy like me - "

_Actually, I did notice you,_  Tony thinks.  _Both you and Barnes.  Barnes was the scary, hot one... and you were the Very Morally Righteous one.  Which I thought was hot too, but okay._

" - But let's just say... I gained a lot of height and muscle over the summer," Steve continues.  His blue eyes seem to pierce into Tony's, unwavering.  "And back then, I picked a lot of fights on behalf of my friends.  And I lost them, because I was tiny and asthmatic."  _No shit,_  Tony thinks but doesn't say.  Steve pauses, and then says, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't punch you right now."

"Because it would hurt?" Tony tries.

"Do you really want to go with that answer," Steve says, deadpan.  Then he narrows his eyes.  "Listen, Stark.  I've met a lot of bullies like you.  Breaking someone's prosthetic just so you can feel some brief satisfaction is despicable and cruel and honestly, the world would be better without those kinds of people."

"I said sorry!" Tony says, indignant.  "I didn't mean to."  He feels a flash of hurt at Steve's words - _the world would be better without you,_ basically - but then chalks it up to his ego.  He can't just get all bruised-feelings-y just because Steve told him something that is true.  And besides, Barnes's current arm really is irreparably broken.

Steve lets out a dry laugh.  "That's what they all say," he says.  "Doesn't excuse the fact that you hurt my best friend.  He wasn't born that way, you know.  He lost his arm.  And I watched him deal with that, and how he slowly grew accustomed to his new one.  I watched all that."  His voice shakes, both in fury and in something else, like pain.  It fills Tony's mouth with a metallic taste to hear that much emotion in someone's voice.  "And you ripped that from him like he was a piece of shit on the bottom of your shoe."

Tony feels his breath stutter in his mouth as Steve steps so close that they're chest to chest.  His throat squeezes tight, and there's a burning behind his eyes.

"Stay away from him, and all of our friends," Steve says.  His eyes are so _very_ blue.  "I mean it, Stark.  You hurt people because you can get away with it, because you have your father and your money behind you.  Some of us don't have rich fathers; I don't even have a father.  But if you mess with Bucky ever again, I won't be afraid to defend him."  The warning in Steve's tone is all too clear.

Tony just looks back, and nods, clears his throat.  "Alright, fair deal," he says, even though it's not really a deal, it's more of a promise.  "Well, if that's all that needs to be said, good luck on your...painting thing."  Then he turns and zips out the door to get away from Rogers's intense gaze, not even waiting for a reply.

 

 

 

The rest of the day blurs by quickly.  Tony goes to the library to do his homework and take a nap, he gets a quick bit of fun in with Anni underneath the bleachers where the football field is, and he heads to a café off campus with Ty and the other guys.  He spends most of his time chatting up Johnny Storm, because he's an alright sort, and after a mug of coffee and some fries he heads back to the dormitories on a fairly empty stomach.  But it's okay, because after today he isn't quite feeling hungry anyway.

For the rest of the evening Tony immerses himself in editing and creating more of his robot's code - it's a project he'd started last year but had never really got around to finishing.  He's already built some of the body in Mr. Yinsen's workshop, but nobody knows what he's been up to beside his beloved teacher.  It's only when he finally stops, comes out of that creating haze that always carries him away when he's inventing, that the thick silence of the room starts to really register and pound through his head, this painful little trickle of loneliness accompanied by the ever-present voice of his father.

_You have to make your friends out of scrap metal because nobody and nothing will ever want you._

Tony turns over and burrows his face into his pillow.  Howard's voice is like an itch in his brain, where's the fucking itching ointment, because if it scratches too hard it'll make a hole and Tony will come leaking out of himself -

Brain-Steve whispers, _You h_ _urt people because you can get away with it._

He checks the clock and it's two am; no wonder he's a bit wonky.  "Shut up," he mumbles to Brain-Steve as he wiggles down under the sheets and wraps himself into a fetal position.  _Don't need to tell me things I already know, Rogers._ Eventually, as the night winds down into something timeless and ancient as they always do, Tony drifts off to sleep like that - curled up in a ball with his face pressing into the pillow like a heavyweight - with the blue lines of code washing the bed in a gentle glow until his laptop falls asleep too.  Thankfully, for the first time in many weeks, he doesn't dream.  He doesn't dream at all, and his mind is a cool dark space in the world where he slumbers, a comfort from all the feelings that envelop him in waking life.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm currently on chapter 14 of this fic, but i don't know how to transition from hate to like... how do you do that without being too abrupt or cheesy lmao // also kinda struggling with that because it's steve and bucky (yeah, i've decided on stuckony haha) rather than just one or the other  
> -  
> i started watching friends recently, and i was pleasantly surprised to realize it is actually as good as everyone says it is. joey is adorable, and 1990s matt leblanc is one of the most beautiful things i've ever seen  
> -  
> lastly, i turned 15 and a half three days ago(!!) i should really, like, get my permit sometime lmao


	6. one-way ticket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky loves his arm! and we see more of becky and tony.
> 
> NOTE: remember, the author knows negative percent about prostheses, so let's just pretend like it works this way. i don't mean to offend anyone though!! lmk if this chapter is written too cluelessly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello beautiful people. this is one of my favorite chapters, solely because i like how i wrote becky and tony. i don't know, they just come easy to me. anyway, warnings of S E X for those of you out there who are very tender or very young. notice: it's not reaally sex, because i'm not a sexually graphic author, but like,, it mentions it? the scene is supposed to be more poetic than sexual. but fair warning.  
> also haha so i'm so damn bad at chapter titles that i've decided to just take snippets from my song lyrics and make those the titles instead. so if they don't make sense to you, i'm sorry i really did try lmao

 

 

_i took a chance to build a world of mine_

_a one-way ticket for another life_

_i used to dream about the other side_

_the sun rising on the skyline_

- woodkid, "land of all"

 

**6.**

"How'd he like it," Tony asks Bruce the next day before lunch, in AP Physics.

Bruce looks at him for a long while before patting Tony tentatively on the shoulder. "It's gorgeous," he says, quietly. "He loved it."

Here's how it happens:

It's late in the afternoon and they're all lounging in Bucky and Steve's dorm room.  They usually meet up here, despite the fact that there are definitely not allowed to be girls in the boys' building. Nobody's really worried about getting caught though; the RAs don't give half the fucks they're supposed to usually and if Natasha were here, she'd just give them a glare and they'd all scurry off, macho men or not. Natasha's got somewhat of a reputation at SHIELD and it's obvious some of the teachers are wary around her too.

Bruce shows up late, his glasses askew on the bridge of his nose and his wild brown curls all tousled. "Hey Bruce," they all say, and Clint scoots over to make a spot for him on the beanbag shoved in the corner of the room.  Everyone's here beside Natasha, who's coming back on Thursday, and Thor, who's probably off making out with Jane in a broom closet or something.  Everyone, of course, means Bucky, Steve, Clint, and Bruce.  And this time Sam's here too, but he's really only close with Bucky and Steve.  

"What's that?" Bucky says, nodding towards the bow-tied box held carefully in Bruce's arms.

"Oh, I forgot," Bruce stammers, holding it out to Bucky. "Here - ah, it's yours."

"Mine?" Bucky says, reaching out with his one good arm.

"Oh, wait, wait, it's - it needs to be held with a lot of support - " Bruce clambers awkwardly off the beanbag and places it on Bucky's lap. It's actually fairly light, and Bruce can only marvel at how Tony managed to pull this off.

"What is it, Bruce?" Steve says, eyeing the box.  It's a mixture of curiosity and amusement and...not distrust, exactly.  But protectiveness.

"It's, uh, an arm," the curly haired teen says quickly, helping Bucky untie the bow and lift the cover of the Macy's box. "A new one, for Bucky."

"You made Bucky an arm?" Sam blurts out, incredulous, and Bruce shrinks back a little. "I didn't," he says. "I asked one of my friends; he was in robotics at his old school." It's not exactly a terrible lie, either. Tony used to be on a robotics team - from what Bruce has heard, the Stark Industries heir has won the national robotics championship three out of the three times he's competed in it. If SHIELD had a team, they'd ream out every other school with Tony at the forefront.

Bucky is looking at him with a sort of stunned worship-y awe that has Bruce crawling in his pants. He doesn't deserve those looks, from the other boy or from the rest of the room. He's not the one who asked, he's certainly not the one who made it, and quite frankly he doubts anyone but Tony could've constructed something so beautiful and modern and advanced.  (He's always known that Tony's a genius, of course, but it's even more mindblowing to see the _results_ of that genius.)  But Tony had requested anonymity, and Bucky would be much more averse to accepting this if Bruce had said that Tony's responsible for this work of art, so he says nothing.

"Wow," Sam says after a moment, and Clint whistles in agreement. "Put it on, Barnes."

"Here, I'll help," Bruce says, crawling over to his friend's side. "Over break I researched how to do this and my friend put a list of instructions in the box, so."  
  
Everyone watches as Bruce attaches wires and electrodes and fits on a comfy black shoulder sleeve. Bucky just grunts every time Bruce asks him if he's okay or if it hurts, which supposedly means "no". After Bruce is done, he withdraws from Bucky's side, and says hopefully, "Works?"

Bucky wiggles his metal fingers - he wiggles his fucking fingers - and his eyes open like a child's do on Christmas morning. "I can... It's so smooth," he says, his voice hoarse. "I can... Wait. I can feel things. I can feel pain."

"Is that a good thing," Steve says, leaning forward. His brows furrow. "You're not supposed to be feeling pain, right?"

"No, no," Bucky whispers. His dark brown eyes are clear. "I feel _human_ again."

"Aww, that's cute," Clint says, breaking the silence, but then the archery-loving teen comes forward and wraps himself around Bucky in a warm hug.

Bucky pats Clint on the back with a broody sort of amusement on his face. He uncurls his metal fingers, curls them again. "It's so light, and it does exactly what I want it to do," he says softly. He lifts his eyes to Bruce. "Who made this? I want to thank them in person. Must be...Jesus, must be a real genius."

 _If only you knew,_  Bruce thinks with dark humor. He shakes his head. "It's one of the people who gets picked on by Stone. He doesn't want to reveal who he is in case Tiberius goes after him."

Bucky snorts. "Stone won't be coming after me now," he says with a mild viciousness. "Nor will _Stark,_ for that matter."

"Tony says sorry," Bruce says hesitantly, as if that'll mean anything. "He wants to make it up to you."

"How about he loses his arm twice in a row, then we can see," Bucky snaps, but his voice cracks a little again. "It fucking sucks, being one-handed," he says finally, softer.

Clint shudders from where his face is nestled into Bucky's neck. "Can't even imagine," he says. "Imagine trying to shoot an arrow with only _one_ hand?"

"Knowing you, you'd find a way," Sam points out. "And shut up, Barton, stop making everything about archery. We're trying to have a bonding circle."  
  
"Well," Bucky says, turning the atmosphere serious again. "Please tell your robotics friend thank you. I..." He trails off, swallows, looks blatantly afraid. "I don't know if I coulda handled having to go through another year without my arm, you know?"

"Yeah, Buck, we understand," Steve says softly, and looks at his best friend of eleven years with the softest gaze anyone's ever seen him wear. The moment is heavy, quiet. Then Bucky cracks a sudden smile and hops to his feet, new fingers flexing and uncurling. "Ingrid's curry sound good? I'm starving."

Clint scoffs, but there's no heat behind his words when he says, "Barnes, that restaurant's not even authentic Indian cuisine.  All the chefs are literally blue eyed."

"Authentic cuisine? Using big words now, you deserve a gold star," Bucky says back as the other boy makes a face and climbs to his feet. Everyone else stands up as well, Sam giving a great yawn full of gusto as he stretches.

Bucky smirks back at Clint as the group moves toward the door. "C'mon, you know you love Ingrid's despite your inner white denial. Let's go."

 

Tony doesn't smoke much. At least, not after he was kidnapped and Howard refused to pay ransom, so they beat the shit out of him so bad his ribs broke and pierced his lungs and his heart started having panic-induced arrhythmia. But right now he leans forward to wrap his lips around Becky's cigarette - Becky who won't ever know about his heart condition now that she's leaving - and looks at her over the butt. Her eyes are watery but he knows it's not just from the smoke, and he leans his shoulder against the brick wall of the building and sighs around the cigarette in his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Tony," she says to him, softly. "My mom - she doesn't have enough money anymore, and I'm not here on scholarship."

"But you..." Tony furrows his brow.

Becky smiles gently; it doesn't reach her eyes. "Even though they're divorcing and I told my mom he doesn't control her, my dad wants me to go to HYDRA Academy. Says it'll make me into a proper woman."

Her laugh - when it escapes - is bitter.

"HYDRA?" Tony says. He makes a face. "That academy has an awful reputation."  Then bites his lip seconds later, because that's probably the farthest thing from what Becky wants to hear right now.

"Awful to you," Becky says. "It's highly prestigious, and..." She trails off. "I guess it really is awful to any decent person."

 _Yeah,_ Tony thinks, recalling the lawsuits filed against the head of school - Arnim Zola - just three months ago for alleged sexual relations with at least three female students. It sickens him, to think Becky will be heading off there in just a day, that she'll probably catch the slimeball's eye because a girl like her just looks so innocently pretty (how did that asshole even manage to drop the charges with such overwhelming evidence?). Fuck, he wants to puke.

"I'm afraid for you," he says honestly, and touches her knee. It isn't a sexual act, nor does he intend it to be; her hands, shaking in her lap with the cigarette, still as his thumb traces comforting circles.

"Me too," Becky says, and combs back her blonde ringlets. "I'm going to miss you, Tony. You're a good friend, no matter what you think.  No matter what people say."

Tony finds that he cannot muster up a reply and squeezes her knee instead, not trusting himself to be able to hold back the sadness he knows is climbing up inside his throat.

After a pregnant moment Becky stands gracefully, her blue eyes sorrowful, and they go back to Tony's single-man dorm room while the sun is still out and the afternoon is faintly there. Inside the room, Becky unclasps her bra and Tony takes off his pants. They kiss a little, and Becky's face is warm and tired in the little light that sneaks from behind the curtain. Tony traces her body with his mechanic's pianist hands for the last time, maps out her breasts with his tongue, leaves a hickey like a forget-me-not on her slim milk-white collarbone.

She is very beautiful, in the kind of way he wants to keep, Tony realizes as her underwear comes off. If he wasn't Tony Stark, and she wasn't Becky Munroe, they might be a couple. In a different universe, at a different high school, with less-broken hearts.

In the waning afternoon in Tony's room they have slow, wanting sex, as if sex will keep the missing her at bay for the rest of the empty, lonely year. Tony melts into ashes as Becky arches beneath him and he slips in and out like the conjoining and splitting of two souls. "Tony," she murmurs into his neck, sweet and sad like a prayer, and he kisses her and tries to convey with his lips that she is the only person he has really talked to outside of sex and class and parties and how that means so damn much even if he's never said it aloud.

"Tony, I'll miss you," she says again into his sweat-dampened skin, and Tony rolls off her and presses against her side as duskier bits of sunlight begin to filter into the dorm.  She fits neatly, easily, into all the spaces between the wall and the bed and his body, like a puzzle piece - so fucking right, and not replaceable at all, and yet.  And yet.

"I'll miss you too, Becks."  His voice sounds dulled and hoarse in the post-sex haze.  And her fingers touch his hand, and they twist together like licorice or maybe a final good-bye, and he remembers how lonely his life always has been and how lonely it always will be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @krazypeople, is it kind of mean that i laughed when i saw your comment saying you got attached to becky? haha i feel ya i did too... but knowing that you commented this right before i posted ch6 was just so coincidental and i was like "omg lmao"


	7. god are you awake at night?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> natasha comes back. tony has a panic attack triggered by PTSD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys, this is a filler and pretty short! school is starting next week and i'm just so busy...i promise by next weekend i'll have my life put together lol  
> -  
> once again, thank you all for the lovely comments! ok, i'm really bad at remembering who comments a lot on my chapters and i appreciate every single one of them so if i don't mention you i swear i still love you  
> @ basically everyone: i don't know if it's because i'm the author or something and so i've spent more time thinking about what's in bucky and co.'s heads, but i feel like all of you are way more pissed at him and his friends than i am hahaha. i totally agree that everyone shouldn't be blaming tony like this, but i DO understand the hostility? i mean, prosthetics cost so much money, and it's kind of just not cool. tony was right in defending becky but...i honestly just think both sides are not at fault

 

_my heart is like the ocean searching_

_searching for the shore i’m learning_

_there must be something more than dreaming_

_i’ve wrestled with the truth for quite some time_

_but i’ve been drowning in this restless mind_

_i'm sick of being so unsatisfied_

_tell me that the answer’s right_

_god are you awake at night?_

_'cause i've been abandoned by my company_

 

- half•alive, "aawake at night"

 

 

 

**7.**

 

When Natasha gets back, she is pissed.  "Stark?  He broke Bucky's arm?" she says.  The only hint of her surprise is the upward twitch of her eyebrows.

"Yeah."  Clint bites the head of his gummy Haribo off savagely as he shifts on the beanbag in his room.  "Thought he was a nice guy.  Not gonna make that mistake again."

Natasha hums from the bed, but there is an angry tension in her body that wasn't there before.

"Why were you interested in Stark before anyway?" Clint says, looking sideways at her.  He rolls the green body of the gummy bear between his fingers.

"Your hands aren't clean, Clint, stop it."  Natasha swats him.  Then she pauses, purses her lips.  "I thought he was after Bruce, to be honest.  I wanted to see if I was right."

"Bruce?" Clint says, scandalized.  He almost chokes on his gummies.  "Stark and he are like polar opposites."

"Exactly."  Natasha frowns.  "I assumed he wanted to be the first to...'defile' Bruce, if you will."

"Yeah, sounds like Stark," Clint says, a black taste in his mouth.  He eats several Haribos at once to rid himself of it.

"I was wrong," Natasha says, surprising him.  "But, I suppose, not about his character."  She tilts her head; her fiery red ringlets catch the sunlight wafting hazily into the room from the window.  "Has Steve already yelled at Stark?"

"Yeah, Steve's already given him a lecture," he says carefully, knowing that that might not make a difference to his best friend.

"Steve's too nice," the redhead says simply as she gives him a cold and bloodthirsty grin.  "If I had been there, Stark wouldn't have even known what was coming to him."  She shakes her head.  "I won't deny it, Stark is cocky with good reason.  He's smart, charming, and popular.  But inside, he's a coward.  Just like..."  There is a silence after that, but Clint understands.  Natasha has met too many awful people in her life, too many cowards hiding behind violence and control.

"I hope you're planning to tell him that," Clint says, and winks at her before flicking the last Haribo into the air and catching it clean between his teeth.

"Of course," Natasha replies with the sweet bite that Clint fell in love with, "but not till later.  I like pouncing when people think they're finally safe.  And besides, you know better than to think I'd waste my time on him when I've just gotten back.  I have better things to be doing."

"Better things?  Like what?  Do you mean...?"

"What do you _think,_ Clinton?"

"Alright," Clint says, and his grin is so wide it could light up the moon.  "Ice cream and shitty TV it is.  C'mere, Tash."

 

In the dorm room, Tony stands in the bathroom in front of the mirror with his shirt off.  The silence around him is so very hollow, and if he squints, he can see tangles of it - the emptiness, the isolation - clinging to his bare skin, to the disgusting scars beneath the hollow of his throat and above his ribs.  His heart thumps irregularly beneath the mess, and he skims a hand over the ruin of his chest.  It is almost trance-like, to gaze at himself as he is now, hair lank and greasy, eyes dull, hints of muscle from spending so much time in the shop.  And then, of course, the wasteland that is his chest, the very reason why he keeps his shirt on during sex except for when he's with Becky.  

The small burn scars on his torso and thighs, he can pass off as having lost control of the welding iron or something of the sort.  But you can't overlook the shitshow that has conglomerated right over his heart.  It's funny how a lot of people think that scars are cool, like a testament to how you survived falling off your bike when you were nine.  But Tony knows better; after all, all he has to do is look down and he'll see ropy pink scars like a spiderweb spread all over his chest.  The worst thing is, he can't even get rid of anything - the constant flashbacks, the pain, the ugliness.  He thinks that even if God turned him inside out, he'd still look the same, because he's kind of just as fucked up as he looks.

Suddenly - almost like it's come out of nowhere - the panic hits.

He sees, as clear as day, heading home from Rhodey's on a miraculously sunny February day with ice cream dripping down his wrist and earbuds trailing from his pocket. He is thirteen and three quarters again (too fucking old to be so weak), following the cracks in the sidewalk, feeling on top of the world and refreshed from a whole day and night with his best friend.  Even better, Howard was on a business trip that week, so he had his own private freedom at home.

That's when he'd felt a chill all of a sudden, like someone was following him, but he ignored it because he was a dumbass at that age and life was good and Tony had long ago learned not to question what you had.  He remembers his younger self passing an alleyway, and then the footsteps and breath on the back of his neck, and then sweaty fingers clamping over his mouth and a trashcan lid smashing down on his head.  He remembers a swear as a gun misfired and the gruesome white-hot pain in his side and then the blackness that followed it.  And he remembers, so very well, waking up in a hot, stuffy basement and men yelling in thick accents to plead and cry in front of the camera and the sound his ribs made when they broke under angry fists. (That part was his fault, for refusing, at first.)

Lastly came the icy dread, when he learned his dad was not going to pay the two million dollar ransom (pocket change, for a Stark) and the kidnappers' leader pressed a lit match to his chest and watched him scream and scream before dumping him underwater (again) to put it out.  The sick self-pity he felt when he woke up again with a badly burnt chest and broken ribs and rasping lungs on a sidewalk somewhere in Fuck-Knows, Pennsylvania, right at the border of Who-Cares, Ohio.

That was the last straw, for Tony. "Dad" forever became "Howard" in his mind, and Howard paid all the doctors and told the tabloids his son was just on a long vacation to "explore his Italian roots and see the world".  Tony has never hated someone more, even if Howard had explained to him that if he'd paid, more people would be encouraged to re-kidnap his son.  He's not like the Getty grandkid, and Howard doesn't have thirteen other children he needs to protect.

Dimly Tony comes back into himself and realizes he's curled up on the tiles, face pressed to the cold floor and tears drying on his skin.  He sits up, burrowing his face into his palms.  His stupid broken heart beats too fast, too irregular, in his chest.

"Fuck," he whispers roughly into his knees, _you can't have a breakdown, not now, not now_.  "Fuck!" he says again.   _Y_ _ou need to calm down, Tony.  Breathe, BREATHE, you idiot.  What does Howard always say?  Stark men are made of iron._

The images blur into one another like a photo reel, and he waits until he's breathing okay and his heart's not so fucking trippy before crossing his legs and taking his hands away from his face.  Oh, God, how he misses his Rhodey and Pepper so bad.  They'd know what to do, wouldn't they?  They'd know how to comfort him, how to soothe him; they're the only people who really know what happened to him besides Howard and Maria and Jarvis, who's dead.

"I want to go _home_ ," he tells the red-eyed boy in the mirror, and realizes with a kind of aching rotting feeling that he doesn't know where home is.  All of a sudden the bathroom lights are too bright and too cold, and his reflection looks so  we ak  and pitiful and  s m a l l , and everything is coming down, coming down on him first not being good enough then getting kidnapped then Jarvis getting cancer and Barnes's arm and losing Bruce and Becky and then, and then -

His mama is the best woman he knows, and she's always telling him eventually karma will make everything okay.  Is all this his karma then?  For being the Stark heir made of rust?

"I fucking hate myself," he says roughly, thinking this is the most honest he's ever been with himself, and presses his hands to his chest to make sure his heart rate is slowing down.  The ceiling opens its mouth and swallows him up without a word, without a sound.

Tony gets off his knees and somehow makes his way to the toilet and begins to cry silently, a raw pit opening up in his stomach that is so deep he doesn't know how he'll ever pull himself out. 

(He's so tired of crying.)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. winter break is gonna happen in the next chapter... or should that not happen? am i moving the month of december along way too fast? or is that okay, because nothing really happens until break  
> 2\. I THINK I MAY DO WINTERIRON INSTEAD OF STUCKONY. is that ok? it's mostly because it's kinda hard to incorporate two love interests instead of one, and i've been reading a lot of winteriron lately  
> 3\. HOLY SHFFJS i'm taking the SAT this saturday!! i am So Scared. i want to get a really good score, but i mean if you screw up three questions you're already down thirty points. aaah!


	8. winter break is a'comin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we get to see some steve, bucky, and sam interaction. + some backstory for the other avenger teens
> 
> (also, WHY is the chapter name what it is? don't ask me, i really don't know.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus chapter! another filler, so sorry if that's disappointing lol... but i wanted to update right before i took the sat (it's tomorrow! eek!), because i probably won't be able to touch my laptop again till next saturday. school starts next week, and i have almost zero summer homework done...  
> -  
> also, you guys have been so sweet by wishing me good luck on the sat. yeah, i'm wishin' myself good luck too haha. another reason why i decided to post another chapter so early. it's filler anyway  
> -  
> @"flower sosa", thought it was funny how u said this fic is the only thing getting u through college. i relate so hard to this...  
> @myimpassive: thor disapproves of tony, but in this fic i feel like he would be the type of person to choose ignoring tony over confrontation. you'll be seeing thor later on  
> @pechoraflow, ah, you're the one who mentioned dec 16. we'll see. also yes, obie stane is around, but i don't know if we'll be seeing much of him in this fic yet. tony has not created the arc reactor or the iron man suit, but the full details of his kidnapping will probably be discussed sometime later.  
> @cjj: don't worry, your comments have not gone overlooked (neither have anyone else's!!). pointing you out though because i've gotten like whole streams of them in my ao3 inbox lmaoo

 

 

_where is the love, the kind we dream of?_

_the kind that makes us young_

_-_ chaos chaos, "do you feel it?"

 

**8.**

 

"Hey, Sam," Steve says cheerfully from where he's standing on a stool.  As a member of the art committee, he's stringing red and green Christmas lights along the hallways of the SHIELD science building.  "Bucky's helping me put these up."

"I was looking for you guys," Sam says with a quirk of the mouth.  "Figured Bucky would be here with you too.  Actually, I just wanna see the arm again."

Bucky hops down from the stool positioned next to Steve's and holds his prosthetic arm out.  It gleams in the overhead lighting, sleek and modern.  Sam grins.  "So it wasn't just my memory embellishing things.  It really is awesome."

"It's pretty amazin'," Bucky agrees with a relaxed nod.  "I owe Bruce my life."

Sam just shakes his head, looking troubled for a moment.  "Lewis gave me the full rundown of what happened to your old arm today.  That girl's a real gossip, but apparently she was at the fight.  Remember, if you need an ear, I'm here.  All of us are.  That must've been rough."

"Yeah."  Bucky clears his throat, ignoring how Steve's suddenly turned and is intensely gazing at him. "It's fine now.  I'm peachy, Wilson."

Sam shoots him a fond look and then picks up more of the lights.  "I've got nothing better to do, so I'll help, if you guys are cool with it."

"We do need some help," Steve says from above with a wry grin on his face.  "Darcy says I've got to get this done by 4:30."

"Darcy's not an art person," Sam says, laughing as he grabs another stool and climbs up onto it.  "She's ordering you around?"

"Head of the holiday committee, apparently," Bucky says with a snort.  "So yeah, she's been telling Stevie what to do."

"Hey, are you guys excited for Christmas?" Steve says suddenly, his face splitting into a happy grin.  He looks like a kid who's just been told the tooth fairy's left a hundred bucks.

"Course," Bucky says, grinning at his best friend.  After he lost the arm - after his parents died - he'd moved in with Steve and his sweet but no-bullshit mother, Sarah.  He misses his pops and ma, of course he does, but by god he's grateful that Sarah decided to take him in.  And, well, Steve's always been there for him.  It's reassuring that he's at least with the guy he considers his brother rather than some foster home or orphanage.

"Are you going with us this year?" Steve says to Sam, but he's teasing.  Ever since seventh grade, Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Bruce have gone to Steve's for winter break.  Sam is invited every time, but he's got his mother and kid siblings waiting for him at home and always declines.

"Nah, Mom misses me," Sam says with a soft smile.  He pins up another string of lights as he speaks.  "And I miss her too.  Text me though, tell me how things are going."

"Yeah, of course," Steve says, and hops off the stool.  "What about you, Buck?  Have you decided to come?"

"Shut up," Bucky grumbles but without heat.  Sam laughs at him as he makes a face at the blonde.

"D'you think Thor will ever bring Loki over?" the African American boy says abruptly.  "Haven't heard much about him."

Loki's Thor's younger brother, an angry emo thirteen year old who seems to want as much to do with Thor as a deer does a tiger.  Whenever Steve, or Bucky, or anyone else asks about him, Thor's face just goes all funny and he says, "Loki... Loki stays at home during break, but he doesn't really talk to us."  No one probes, but Thor hadn't come over during break until just last year.  He'd said with a dull sad smile that Loki doesn't want him around, so against his parents' cajoling he had decided to respect his brother's wish.  So, now he goes to Steve's with the rest of the gang.

"Probably not," Steve says with a deep frown.  "I don't like how Thor gets really upset over Loki.  Last Christmas he looked kind of tense the whole time."

"Hopefully this year goes better," Bucky says, heading down the hall with red and green trailing from his fingers.  "Sam, get down here and come help."

Suddenly, the door to the advanced lab swings open and Tony Stark bursts out, lips parted and dark hair a shaggy mess.  He blinks at Bucky for a moment, almost like he doesn't recognize the other boy, before his eyes widen.  "Oh, uh, Barnes."

"Stark," Bucky replies, immediately tense.  "What're you doing here?"

"Um, I use the lab a lot."  Tony sticks his thumb out at the door, which has just shut next to him.  "Sorry," he adds hastily.

"Sorry," Bucky repeats.  He senses Sam looking concernedly at him, and he's sure Steve's stopped to watch too.

"About being here," Tony clarifies, and then adds, "and - and the arm. I really - I, I freaked. I shouldn't have - I -"  His eyes dart to Bucky's arm and something indecipherable flashes through his gaze.  "It's good you have a new one.  Um.  I swear to god, Barnes, I'm so, so sorry.  I know I said it before, but I thought - I needed to tell you."

Bucky grunts, then moves past.  He has these stupid LED lights to hang up, after all.

"Do you, um, need a hand?" Tony says quickly from behind him.  For such a typically-smooth talker, he's stuttering an awful lot.  "With those lights?"

"You took one hand away from me already," Bucky says, rolling his eyes as Sam steps protectively to his side.  "So no, I think I'm good."

He can hear Tony's audible swallow before the boy mumbles "okay, sorry" and takes off down the hall.  He can bet his buttons that Steve's glaring the guy down right now.

"You alright, man?" Sam says, his dark eyes focusing on his friend's.

"Fuckin' peachy, like I said."  Bucky side-eyes Sam.  "Now help me get this shit on the wall before Darcy kicks both our asses."

"What ass?" Sam snorts, and Bucky lunges at him and jabs him in the side.  "Hey, asshole!"

Soon enough, they're tumbling all over in the halls and Steve's there too, trying to pull them apart and howling with laughter when Sam wraps his arms around Steve's legs and pulls him down too.

"Fuck, I can't wait for Christmas," Bucky moans as they all flop onto their backs, finally exhausted.

"Yeah, Buck," Steve says with a faint smile from next to him, and nearly wiggles with excitement - that boy is heaps of enthusiasm about things he likes, Bucky swears.  "Can't wait to be home with the family again."

"Yeah, family," Bucky says, and pokes Sam in the ribs.  "Wilson, you're an annoyin' shithead but you're part of it too.  Even if you don't love us enough to come home with us."

Sam rolls his eyes and says drily, "Man, it makes sense you're family.  Now we know why you ain't got the good genes - it musta all gone to Steve."

"Shut up," Bucky says, and ignores Steve's outright manful giggling. 

"Bruce is coming, right?" Steve says. his blue eyes shine in the bright hallway.  "He's got a wonderful new foster parent, Betty Ross I think, and he's always talking about how sweet she is and that dog named Hulk.  I'm real glad he's, you know, got a good woman to care for him over the summer.  But is he staying home with her?"

"Nah," Bucky answers. He runs his right hand over the smooth silver panels of his metal arm.  "He says Betty understands why he needs to come over during winter break.  And she's apparently got some adorable divorcee she's been seeing, so she's thinking about staying at his place this Christmas."

"That's sweet," Sam comments.

"Mm," Bucky agrees.  He thinks back to when he'd first met Bruce in eighth grade - he was flighty and twitchy as hell, never said a word but always managed to mumble the right answer when called on in class.  In fact, it wasn't till a guy pushed him too far that everyone got a taste of what the inner Bruce was,  _is,_  like - tense, and so very very angry.  The anger is a result of his father killing his mom when he was four; Bruce may not remember his parents much at all, but he certainly can't forget getting shuttled around to countless foster homes and living in orphanages all around New York's west side.

Natasha, Natasha and Clint on the other hand are different. He'd run into Natasha before at the orphanage he went to; this is all before Steve and Sarah caught wind of the crash and came to pick him up.  He knows a bit of her story - dead parents, adopted by some creepy Russian military guy.  Then one day, Natasha showed up on the orphanage's doorstep and claimed he disappeared.  There are things, many things he doesn't know, like why she quit ballet or how her caretaker just up and pulled a "gone with the wind".  He doesn't know if he _wants_ to know.

Clint's a more straightforward case, but there are still puzzling gaps in his history too.  Grew up in the circus, parents died when he was young, lived with his brother Barney on the streets until Barney was jailed and he was picked up and sent to foster care.  That is, up until Phil Coulson adopted him and introduced him to Natasha herself, Phil's new daughter.  The funniest thing is that Coulson's a counselor slash teacher here at SHIELD High; Natasha and Clint are both here on scholarship because of him.

"Buck," Steve says again, and Bucky blinks and realizes Steve and Sam have both been trying to get his attention for who knows how long.

"Sorry, drifted off," he says, sitting up as if the thoughts of his friends' pasts will fall off his shoulders like coats.

"As I was saying," Steve says with a fond smirk, "let's finish up the lights and then head over to Sam's room to order some pizza."

"Pietro's out tonight," Sam adds, referring to his Sokovian roommate.  "Wants a 'twin night', whatever that means."

"Fine by me," Bucky says, and climbs to his feet, pulling Sam up.  "It's been a long time since I ate some nice oozin' cheese anyway."

In hindsight, he should've seen the obvious jab coming.

"Pig," Sam calls as he heads down the hallway, thumbing up his nose to expose his nostrils.

"Shut up," Bucky shouts back, and gives him the middle finger.  Then he turns back to the red and green lights and strips a nice long piece of tape to the wall.  The clock right below it seems to be laughing at him, and a second later he knows why.  He blinks.  "Fuck, Stevie, it's four thirty.  You're screwed."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, yep, i decided to make winter break next chapter instead, and i am EXCITED for it. probably not in the way you're thinking, though. i've already heard someone say that they're looking forward to december 16th, but who knows. maybe dear ol' howard and maria won't die. anyway, don't get sad, folks. winter break will probably have things you are going to be interested in, even though right now it sounds kinda lame because winter break?? we want tony x everyone interaction! tbh i'm trying to hype you guys up even though idk, maybe it won't be as good as i think it is. try to trust me though...  
> -  
> LOTS OF TONY IN NEXT CHAP :) plus it will definitely be longer. i promise


	9. big bang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> winter break starts!!  
> -  
> lol ik i said there's a lot of tony in this chap but i actually meant next chapter wooops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm not actually sure if you guys will like this idea much/where the story is heading...i personally found it exciting but idk, i might've hyped you all up too much lol. hope you enjoy though; i had fun writing this and the next few chapters for sure  
> -  
> i wanted to clear something up because i think it's important - tony does not at all represent the epitome of strength. just wanted to put that out there! if you are going through depression, ptsd etc or have gone through something similar to what tony has gone through, you don't need to suppress your hurt. tony is one of those people who are very good at hiding their emotions, but that doesn't mean you aren't strong like him in other ways. strength doesn't equate to covering up how you feel and presenting an untouched version of yourself to the world; that's a coping mechanism. strength itself is rebounding from what has happened to you, even if it's a long and harrowing journey.

 

 

 _i said to the the sun_  
_“tell me about the big bang”_  
_the sun said_  
_“it hurts to become”_

 _-_ andrea gibson

 

 

**9.**

 

 

On the last day of school before winter break, Tony lies flat on his back in the workshop and absentmindedly scrambles and solves a Rubix cube over and over again.  He's not looking forward to break, and it's depressing how quickly the school days have seemed to pass post-Thanksgiving.  He's had sex every weekend he's been back, and he misses Becky like a lifeline.  _One hell of a girl,_ he thinks to himself as he lines a red up into place to finish the second face of the cube.

"Anthony?" Mr. Yinsen says warmly from across the room.  "I'm closing up shop in fifteen minutes."

Tony sits up.  Mr. Yinsen's the only person still alive that can call him "Anthony" and get away with it.  "I wasn't doing anything anyway," he says.  "I'll head back to the dorm now."

"Dorm," Mr. Yinsen says, his eyes curious but unquestioning.  

"Yeah, I'm - I'm not going home for winter break."  Tony falls silent.  His mama's going to be vacationing in Greece for the next month, and only Howard will be stopping by when he's not out on business, which will be pretty much every day.  But Tony would much rather roam freely around campus, alone, than have Pepper and Rhodey give him sad looks and try to invite him over.  Also, the household staff have been given plenty of days off, so the mansion will be even more empty.

"So you have everything, and nothing," Mr. Yinsen murmurs, and Tony looks up sharply.  "I am going to see my wife when I get home."

"That's nice," Tony says, hesitantly.  "Have a nice Christmas, sir."

"Yes," his teacher replies after a moment, suddenly sounding far away.  "I have not visited her grave in too long of a time.  I suppose it is because of all the time I spend here teaching."

"Oh," Tony says, because what else can he say - _'I_ _'m sorry dumb students like me kind of ruin everything?' -_ and he gets up and starts stuffing papers randomly into his backpack, not even sorting them out into his color coded binders.  He's got two weeks to re-organize all his supplies and notes anyway, and it's not like the cleaning staff will stop by his room to yell at him to eat or sleep or hang up some stupid Christmas wreaths.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he heads over to the door to leave.  His teacher is still sitting silent as his desk, shuffling something around in the drawers, and the workshop is filled with a silence that slips right in the grey area between unsettling and calm.  Before he can get fully out of the door, however, he hears Mr. Yinsen call out from behind him: "Have a merry Christmas as well, Anthony."  When Tony turns to glance back, the older man's eyes are warm and sad behind his round glasses.

Tony smiles a little bit before he slips out the room and heads off down the hallway.  It feels good, actually, to get told nice things by well-wishers.  People who _genuinely_ mean it, that is, not those plastic money hounds he sees at Stark Industries functions.  And anyway, who cares if he'll be alone this year?  It'll be the best fucking Christmas of all time, just like how it is every year.  It's going to be fun, it's going to be great, and maybe if he tells himself this enough he'll eventually believe it.

 

"Stark," Coulson says through the door at promptly three thirty pm in the afternoon, loud enough to jolt Tony out of his drowsing.  "Open up."

The teen, who is tangled up in his sheets on the floor, lets out a string of curses.  He's half-asleep and irritated, his teacher is knocking at his room for no discernible reason, and it's literally the first day - half-day? - of break.  Whatever bullshit Coulson's going to spout at him about studying for finals or whatever, he would seriously rather read it in an email.  

Tony staggers over to the door, sheets hooked around an ankle.  "Agent," he grunts, peeking around the door.  He's sure he looks like shit - one eye feels crusty, his hair is a definite mess, and he's tired down to his bones.

"There's...an issue concerning you," Coulson says, and gives him a look.  "I told you not to call me that."

"Sorry," Tony says cheerfully.  "Now what's the problem?  Not that I have any."

"You are the only student that has turned in their forms to stay here over winter break," Coulson says carefully.  "Are you sure you don't have anywhere off-campus to stay?"

Tony frowns.  "Well, I didn't book a flight home or anything.  And I prefer staying here.  You know, with the funny janitors and our favorite one-eyed pirate stopping by.  Why?"

Coulson's mouth doesn't even twitch at Tony's snark, and the SI heir vows to make the guy crack before the school year's over.  "The heating malfunctioned.  We don't know why yet.  But all the heaters in the dorms are broken."

"Are you fucking - "  Tony blows out an incredulous breath, not even caring that he's just cursed in front of a staff member.  Coulson probably swears like a sailor under that calm demeanor anyway; no one can be that placid.  "Okay, well, I can fix it.  Whatever.  Just give me some tools and tell Principal Fury to shove off and let me do my thing."

"Stark," Coulson warns, and Tony harrumphs.

"No?  Ok, fine.  When will it be fixed?  I don't mind sleeping in a cold room for one night."

The counselor just fixes him with the most blandly unimpressed look he's ever seen in his life.  "You'll freeze to death, and you won't be able to find a flight until at least a few days from now.  Additionally, there's frost in all the heat exchangers, and it won't be a quick fix."

"Whatever," Tony says.  "I'll just go out and buy a space heater right now.  I'll just call an Uber to take me off grounds."

Coulson's face twists for a half second so comically that Tony isn't even sure if he's imagining things.  "Any electric appliances are illegal, which I know you're aware of.  Even in the case of space heaters."

Okay, confirmed: schools have the dumbest rules ever.  Tony should just convince Howard that SHIELD is a worthwhile investment so he can legally rewrite all the guidelines, honestly.

"I'm a Stark, I'm sure an airline will be willing to swap someone's seat for me if I pay enough," Tony says airily, and wow, can Coulson's face get any more judgy?

"Actually," Phil says with all the patience of a saint, "if you are willing, I can arrange to have you go home with someone."

"Like who?"  Tony makes a face.  Who the hell would be willing to take him home?  He guesses it's better than going back to his own house, but still.

"My children, Natasha and Clint, are leaving in two hours with their friends. They may be able to take you."

Tony coughs in surprise, and then starts coughing for real when he chokes on his saliva.  "Um, you mean, _Barton?_   Barton and Romanoff?  Wait - wait - you have _kids?_ And I thought - wait -  _they're not dating?"_

"Yes, I have children, and Natasha is not legally adopted, so technically they can date.  Whether they are, however, is none of your business, Tony," Coulson says.  He looks worn out by the conversation already, and Tony is secretly impressed by how the man can convey that much exasperation without moving a face muscle.

"Um, nope, no, sorry, someone else?" Tony says hopefully.  He can't even imagine sitting in a house for two weeks of break with Scary Redhead and Boy Who Despises Him.  "Bye!"  He tries to close the door, only to have Coulson's hand flash out so fast and catch it that he has to tamp back ingrained panic.  There is no way,  _no way,_ that his teacher is anything but a spy.  Teachers don't move that fast, only, like, Olympians.  And, of course, spies.

Coulson just blinks at him, deceptively strong arm still holding the edge of the door, and says dryly, "Suck it up, Stark. They're the only students beside you still here on campus.  Pack your bags and be ready in an hour."

Tony sputters and flails his hands in the air. "I don't know where to meet them!  I don't even know their friends!  I don't - Natasha's going to kill me.  There's a thousand kids in the student body; you couldn't find one other person who can take me home?"

Coulson watches him impassively.  "Seven hundred forty two, actually.  And dismissal was at eleven, Stark.  Believe me when I say everyone else has already left."

"Then why are they still here?" Tony says into the air in disbelief.

"Bags, Stark.  And don't try to hide because you'll be frozen by midnight, and quite frankly, bodies are a mess to take care of."  The counselor nods at him and then exits the room smoothly, not even waiting for a reply.

Tony flings a hand up - what the fuck even is his life, and also, he really hopes Coulson wasn't speaking from experience - and then swears when he accidentally hits the door frame.  "God dammit, Coulson," he mutters to himself, then grabs his suitcase out of the closet and starts shoving things in.

 

"Absolutely not," Clint says firmly, staring his caretaker straight in the eye.  "Phil, we can't just force this onto Steve and Bucky like that."

Coulson sighs.  "I wouldn't ask if there was another option."

"See," Clint snaps, "if Rogers weren't such a wonderful person he wouldn't have volunteered to clean around the school like he does every year, and then we would be home already."

"Please," Coulson says, and cups both his children's faces - his children - with his hands.  "Please ask Steve if he has room for one more.  Stark has nowhere to go.  Don't you two like strays?"

Natasha mutters something dirty in Russian.

"Stark's not a stray though!" Clint protests, even as he leans into Phil's touch.  "Why did he even register to stay here?  He lives in a huge Malibu mansion."

Regardless of why," Coulson says patiently, "he needs a place to stay, at least until he can go home.  And considering it's very close to Christmas, every possible flight is booked."

Clint groans. "Aw, Phil.  Don't try to guilt us."

"I wasn't trying to at all."  His adoptive father smiles placidly.  "Natasha?"

The redheaded girl glares at Coulson, spitting out another word in Russian, but the silence makes Clint relent.  "Fine," he says, grumpily.  "We'll ask Steve and Bucky.  And tell him that Stark's alone and has absolutely no place to go."

"Stark must have a friend who lives here," Natasha says suddenly.  "Why doesn't he call someone?"

"Everyone's gone home, and SHIELD is at least two hours away from the city," Coulson says for what seems like the millionth time that day.  "And in all honesty, most of the people he's seen around with are incredibly wealthy.  It wouldn't surprise me if they're all on a plane to a different continent right now."

"Of course," Clint says, sighing and shaking his head.  "Alright, fine.  We'll ask because we love you and you're the best adult we know.  But if either Steve or Buck says no or I accidentally end up stabbing Stark on the way home, you can't blame me."

"Have fun with your friends.  I know Christmas at Steve's is an important tradition," Coulson says simply, and somehow that makes everything just a little bit more okay.

"I love you both.  Don't forget that," he adds, gentler, finally loosening from SHIELD High's casually-intimidating counselor to the almost dad-like figure he is at home.

Clint hugs him tightly and Natasha kisses him on the cheek before they grab their luggages and turn away to go find the rest of their group.

"Don't forget to text an update when you've got Stark," Coulson says from behind them.  "Principal Fury loves clarification."

"Alright, okay, we won't purposely just leave Stark in the parking lot," Clint groans, but perks up enough to wave.  "See you later, Phil."

Natasha smiles at Coulson and says something sweet and lilting in Russian, and then the two teenagers walk off into the distance.  Phil watches them go and a proud, soft smile finally edges onto his face.  Gosh, he loves his kids.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oK sO aBoUt my SAT y'all: i'm getting my scores back this friday!! i'm so nervous but also kinda hyped! and also after school today my friend's picking me up to go to starbucks and i'm happy :)


	10. glass seat home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony goes to steve and bucky's house!! but he thinks it's just steve's house (this will be important later hehe). more angst and people misjudging tony. 
> 
> (why isn't there a misjudged tony stark tag?? fr)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ananko, the reason i tagged this story for winteriron rather than stuckony is because it is now intended to be a winteriron fic. so sorry if my earlier chapters seemed a little misleading!!! i did not decide on a different pairing until around ch 5.  
> @b3_an_exceptional_nobody: yes! harry potter references. tbh i don't remember much about fleur lol, but i know she's a badass blonde who does magic  
> @rinkashiririkatetu: your username is a mouthful lol; i admire this. anyway, the SAT is a test taken by those who want to attend a college in the united states. it is basically a score to help you get into college  
> \--> i'll tell you all about my busy friday (the day i was supposed to get my sat scores) in end-of-chapter notes :)  
> -  
> REMEMBER: THIS IS NOT STUCKONY. THERE ARE STUCKONY IMPLICATIONS...BUT REMEMBER THAT THIS IS *TONY*. TONY MAKES DUMB ASSUMPTIONS, LET'S BE REAL HERE

 

 

 _we run into a dark room_  
_and we spasm to the sounds_  
_of a copy of morrissey_  
_or the blues of the deep south_  
_and the drugs will only hide it_  
_the feeling never really goes_  
_you won't find love at the bottom_  
_of a glass seat home_

\- amber run, "5am"

 

**10.**

 

Tony loads his luggage into the trunk of Steve's big paint-peeling van without a word.  He's been uncharacteristically quiet ever since he came out of the dorm building, but they don't care or notice.  "They" being Bruce, Thor, Steve, Bucky, Clint, and Natasha.  But it's not like they should, anyway.  Not after what Tony has done.  Not after they've been generous enough to take Tony in, even though he doesn't know what Coulson could've said to convince them.  They barely even know him, after all.

After everyone's climbed into the van, Steve starts the engine and backs out of the SHIELD parking lot, laughing as Bucky tells him something, presumably a joke.  Meanwhile, Tony is pressing himself as close as he can to the side of the car, because the last thing he wants to do is accidentally shift into Bruce and have the boy jerk back from him like he's a disease.  Since he finished Bucky's prosthetic arm, his science seatmate has been tentatively warming up to him again, but Tony doesn't trust it to last.  Good things never last.

He looks around the car as Steve gets onto a highway.  Bruce and Thor - the latter of which is telling a story to the other boy in a booming voice - are seated in the back with him.  Clint and Natasha are in front of them, heads tucked together and whispering.  Tony hates looking at them because when he does, he remembers Clint's earlier kindness in the gardens and feels a little ill at how quickly the other teen realized Tony wasn't worth it.  Bucky and Steve are way up front, one in the driver's and one in the passenger's seat respectively, and they're howling with laughter over the music pumping through the speakers.

Tony saddens, watching them all.  He doesn't belong here, with these people who act like a big happy family.  He supposes he doesn't really have a family, besides Howard and Maria.  Sure, Pepper and Rhodey are his best friends and they've stuck around for at least two years (without haggling for money and leaving him to the wolves), so they've got to count for something.  But Tony doesn't deceive himself into believing they love him.  People like him don't deserve love, don't get love.  And sooner or later his best friends are going to realize that and walk away, because they're smart enough to know when something's toxic.

He checks his phone; there are the standard "have a good break! i'll miss u!" texts from various SHIELD High students and a funny GIF from a kid named Harley he used to tutor (they never really got any math done though; plus the kid is whip smart - just forgets his homework a lot - and pulls great pranks).  There's nothing else to do on this two-hour drive to the border of Pennsylvania where Steve's little country house is, so Tony closes his eyes and tips his head against the headrest.  Eventually, to the lull of the car and the music and people talking, he falls asleep.

 

"- ony. Tony," is the first thing Tony hears when he blearily blinks open his eyes.

"Mm?" he says, still only half-conscious.  He peers upward to see Bruce's glasses-adorned face hovering over him.

"We're here," Bruce says, snapping Tony into sudden awareness.

"Oh. Oh. Sorry," he says, and follows the other boy out of the van while stifling a big yawn.  Once he's outside and is rolling his luggage across the driveway (more like a huge area of dirt), Tony takes in Steve's house in its entirety for the first time.  It's actually fairly large even if a little rickety looking, although probably only a fiftieth of Tony's own home.  From what he can tell, Steve's not from a very wealthy family, so this mostly-isolated location must have gotten them a cheap deal.

Has Rogers grown up here?

Inside is nothing like Tony's ever had before; pairs of shoes are scattered in the hallway, and the carpet is worn down from age and use.  Pepper and Rhodey's houses were more like this, he realizes.  But not his; never his.  The Malibu mansion is pristine and sophisticated; they have thirty cleaners as part of the household staff.  Steve's house is... less so.  It's more cramped, although that might be because of all the objects stuffed in the rooms and left in the hallways.  It carries warm, lived-in tones where the Stark mansion is more similar to a fancy hospital.  It's... well, Tony likes it, even if there's something bitter niggling down in his insides.

As the group walks through the living room, Tony notices there's a real tree decorated with lights, tinsel, and ornaments nestled in the corner.  It's short and kind of wimpy to be honest, but the sight of it expands in his chest like a sort of dull ache.  He's never put up a tree in his own home.  Howard's always said that Christmas trees are too much work, and no one is ever going to see it anyway.  And Tony does sort of agree, he does - everything his father says is quite logical, really.  But still, a hollow feeling works its way up his insides as he tips his head up to look at the cheap but bright star glowing at the top of the Rogers' Christmas tree.

For a moment, Tony forgets himself - who he's with, why he's here, that he's not welcome.  "Nice tree, Rogers," he blurts out.

Bucky steps closer to Steve protectively, instinctively; everyone seems to have forgotten that the Stark heir is there amidst their laughter and jokes.  Barton gives him a dirty look, says, "You don't have to mock Steve just because you probably have much more fancy ones at home."   
  
"No, that's not it.  It's nice.  I like it," Tony says quickly.  "Um.... It's just very...Christmas-y."

Natasha and Thor are frowning (well, Natasha's frowning dangerously), and yeah, in hindsight he can see why he might be coming off as mocking.

"Not all of us are rich, Tony," Bruce says quietly, his eyes downcast.  For the first time, Tony realizes that Bruce must be poor - not even middle-class - and wonders ashamedly how he didn't notice before.  How many times has he flaunted his wealth with ease in front of his science buddy, completely oblivious to the ratty sneakers Bruce wears and his worn jackets?  He guesses he's just been so caught up in the thrill of someone decent who he can talk science with that it hadn't even crossed his mind to check, that.... Gosh, he's a terrible friend.

"I'm not mocking," he says, and has his second realisation of the day: no one believes him for a moment.

"Sure, Stark," Barnes says, and wraps an arm around Steve.  "Well, if you feel like hitchhiking all the way back to Malibu since you think you're too good for us, you're welcome to leave."

Hot, wounded anger flares up in Tony's chest.  He knows he's not welcome, he _knows_ it, but it doesn't make the words hurt any less.  "Well, Rogers's tree _is_ nice," he says viciously.  "I mean, when's the last time you could get anything for fifty cents?"

"Bucky, stand down," Steve says, his voice faint in Tony's ears, and when the red haze clears he realizes a bristling Barnes has stepped forward into his space.

Barnes turns to Natasha and Clint.  "You made us bring him here."

"Phil felt bad for Stark," Clint says, making a face.  "What a mistake."

Thor, who's been quiet up till now, says with the kind of deep, quiet grace that makes everyone hush and listen to you: "Let us ignore our guest Stark then.  He is not important enough to squabble over, and I opine to enjoy my stay here and celebrate with you all rather than concern myself over petty, insignificant things."

Tony thinks, _ouch,_ and then wonders absentmindedly, _medieval Scandinavian?_

There's a silence, and then Bucky breaks it by saying loudly, "Okay, let's go up to our room."  He tousles his best friend's hair, his face immediately shifting from stiff to relaxed and fond.

 _Room?  Are we all...staying in the same room?_  
  
Realizing that he's about to be left behind, Tony spares one more glance at the tree gleaming with silver and gold tinsel and goes after the group.  In Steve's room, everyone lays out sleeping bags and pillows, even Steve himself.  Tony's the only one who didn't bring a sleeping bag, but he's got a thin blanket and pillow he snatched from his dorm room at the last second.  Awkwardly, he assembles his things in a corner, far enough away from everyone else that he can get some peace.

Bruce comes over and tells Tony, "We're going out to have a snowball fight."  He shuffles a little.  "You're welcome to join."

It's painfully obvious that his science seat-partner doesn't mean it.  Bruce is just too nice of a guy to show it.  "I'm fine," Tony mutters. "It's fine.  I don't care.  I'm going to stay up here and text my friends."  _Friends, what friends, you mean all those people you hang out with at school that would drop you if you didn't throw money and caution to the wind like it's nothing?_   Howard snarls in his head.

Bruce nods - well, that was quick; guess Tony's assumption was correct after all - and then he's out the door with everyone else.  After a few minutes, Tony can hear whooping and yelling outside, and he goes over to the window to see all of them crouching behind walls of ice and flinging snow at each other.  He sees Bruce, normally so reserved, laughing hard as his ball catches Clint in the face.  He sees Bucky, Clint, and Steve, all hard looks around Tony Stark, running around more carefree than he thought they could possibly be.  And Natasha is smiling too, which is so at odds with her typical death-glare expression, and Thor is stripping his shirt off to dive into the snow, only proving Tony's point that this guy is from a different planet entirely.

It's actually a little beautiful, how a group of people can come together like that. Maybe families are like that too - not that he'd ever find out.

After replying to a few texts that have come in while he's been here, Tony curls up on top of his blanket and wraps it around his feet, a vague sense of lonely wistfulness meandering through his head.  He's too afraid to go downstairs or outside or through this rickety two-story house at all, so he just scrolls through his camera roll in dispassionate boredom.  He has few pictures - a lot of Pepper, most of Rhodey, some of other SHIELD students that were taken for laughs but don't really matter to him.

God, if he has to spend the next week cooped up like this, he might die.  It's one thing to be lonely because no one's around; it's another thing entirely to be alone surrounded by people.

Suddenly, he hears the floorboards creaking outside Rogers's room and he looks up to see a woman enter through the doorway.  She has kind eyes and soft blonde hair, and he can see a bit of Steve in her smile and the eye shape and blue color.  So.  Rogers's mother, then.

"Uh.  Hi, Ms. Rogers," Tony says, never one to be impolite when facing an adult.  He ramps up the charm to a hundred percent; he knows what every woman looks for, what every man looks for.  They're all the same.  "It's nice to meet you.  I'm Anthony, but you can call me Tony."  For some odd reason though, it feels vaguely uncomfortable to  be putting on a smile in front of this woman.  She seems different, somehow.  

Ms. Rogers laughs and says, "Call me Sarah then.  How come you aren't out and about with the rest of your friends?  Too tired?  I must say, I don't think I've ever seen you around before.  But I have a terrible memory, as Steve likes to remind me."

Tony shakes his head quickly; the beginning of a knot forms in his stomach.  "Ro...Steve was nice enough to let me stay here.  Uh, they probably didn't let you know.  But I was going to stay at SHIELD over winter break and the heating broke, so..."  He shrugs lamely.  "I came here."

"That sounds awful," Sarah says as she grabs an empty glass from the nightstand and heads back to the door.  "Well, I'm glad you're here, Tony.  I promise, we don't bite."

 _You will once you find out I broke your son's best friend's metal arm,_  Tony thinks darkly, watching her go.  Then he drops back down to the blankets and pulls out his phone.

 

During dinner, Ms. Rogers - Sarah - doesn't say anything about the appearance of a sleeker, prettier arm, so Steve must've told her about James's...situation beforehand.  It's possible she just doesn't care, but this bright-eyed woman doesn't seem the sort to overlook that sort of thing, even if Barnes isn't her son.  Tony wonders briefly why Sarah hasn't ripped his head off yet, but then realizes Steve must've only described the culprit as "Stark".  And Sarah doesn't seem to know he's a Stark.  _After all,_ he thinks bitterly, _who would think the heir to a multi-billion dollar corporation would be staying at some country shack in the middle of nowhere on Christmas vacation?_

Across the table, Barnes slings an arm across Rogers's broad shoulders.  They look so happy and complete together, Barnes's dark hair framing his white grin, Steve's head tilted close.

Tony watches all of this with casual disinterest.  To be honest, he had already assumed the two were dating.  They just seem like a couple - knowing what the other's going to say, moving together flawlessly, always saying the right thing to get the other to laugh.  Hell, he barely knows them, and he could already tell from two hours spent in their company.

Natasha says something sarcastically and the whole table erupts into loud, raucous laughter.  Rogers winces while Barnes points at the redhead and yells back, mock-angry.

"I hope you remember a mother is present," Ms. Rogers says dryly, and for a second Tony anticipates the anger - the slam of a hand against the table, a threatening word - but Steve's mom just seems...amused?  

It takes a second for his heart to settle back down.

"Oh God," Steve moans into his hands, and everyone bursts out laughing.

The rest of dinner passes in quick succession; Barnes and Rogers and Thor can apparently eat double their body weight in spaghetti before getting full, and Natasha eats as gracefully as she moves.  A couple of times, Sarah tries to engage Tony in conversation, but when she does the table just goes silent and eventually she stops.

"Okay, who's on clean-up duty today," Sarah says, and Bucky points at Thor and Bruce.  Then he looks at Tony for the first time in several hours and mutters, "I guess you can go with me and Nat on Thursday, then."

"Hey," Clint offers softly, "we can switch, Barnes.  If you want.  I'll go with Nat, and you can go with Steve, yeah?"

Barnes's mouth flattens out, and for a moment it looks like he's going to agree.  But then he spares a quick glance at Ms. Rogers and mutters, "It's fine, Clint.  It's just washing dishes.  I don't - it's okay."

Tony nods awkwardly as everyone gets up and Thor and Bruce begin to clear the table.  It's weird how at ease the two look in a home that isn't their own, and once again a sort of wistfulness comes back to Tony and fills his lungs.  _Imagine that,_ his brain says cheerfully, taunting.  _Imagine having a family like that._

"We'll be upstairs in our room," Rogers calls to Bruce and Thor, and the long haired blonde booms out acknowledgement before they both return to washing dishes.  Not entirely sure what to do, Tony just trails after Rogers, Barnes, Natasha, and Clint, ignoring that little squirm in his gut that wishes he could live like this.

 

When Bruce and Thor come back, they play "Never Have I Ever".  Surprisingly, Tony is invited to play, although this might have more to do with Rogers's overwhelming morality and Bruce's uncertain pity than an actual invitation of friendship.  He settles into the circle hesitantly between Barton and Bruce, and tries to ignore how the atmosphere tenses at his presence.

"Never have I ever... gone skiing," Steve starts, and Clint says, "C'mon, Steve, you can do better than that.  This is Never Have I Ever."

"Fine, alright," Steve says with a blush.  "Never have I ever... had sex."

Tony drops a finger immediately, and even though Clint, Natasha, and Thor all do too, Barton looks at him and sneers, "No surprise there."

"Your mother certainly liked it," Tony hisses, and the air between them lengthens and stretches like it's going to snap.  
"I swear to God, Stark, if you ever say something like that again to Clint," Barnes begins coldly, before shaking his head.  He nods to Natasha, who's sat next to Steve.  "Keep going."

"Never have I ever had a threesome," she says, shrugging.  Tony puts another finger down, trying not to see the way Barton's lip curls in disgust.  He remembers his first threesome in sophomore year back home.  It was with two girls, and it had honestly been more like Tony and "them" as a collective entity than three people.

"Never have I ever had an orgy," Barton says, his eyes on the SI heir, and thankfully Tony hasn't.

When it gets to his turn, he takes a deep breath, then mutters, "Never have I ever had a Christmas tree."

The circle is dead silent, then Clint says incredulously: "What the fuck?"

"Sorry," Tony mumbles, instantly regretting his decision.  He should've just said _'never have I ever been to_ _Alaska"_ or something dumb like that.  He shouldn't use this game to justify something that happened hours ago.  "I just wanted to.... I meant it when I said I wasn't mocking you. Earlier."  He waves at hand at Rogers, who's staring at him.  "I thought your tree was cool. I don't know."

"Bullshit," Clint spits.  "What, do you guys put up a technological light show instead or something?"

Tony's hackles rise, but then he remembers again that he deserves this; Clint's just being a protective, good friend.  "I just don't have a tree," he says defensively.  "That's it.  Why do you care?"

Clint raises his chin indignantly.  "Tell me why you don't put up a tree then, rich boy."

Tony shrugs.  Okay, if Barton really wants to know.  What is the guy even expecting?  "It's a waste of time to put up.  It's a waste of time to take down.  No one but the household staff is ever going to see it."

"Household staff," Clint snorts, effectively ignoring the rest of Tony's words.  "Jesus, what's it like to be that spoiled?"

"Clint," Steve says warningly, and the boy in question huffs and falls silent.  "Okay, your turn, Bruce."

After that, the game kind of falls apart; and based on the looks Tony's getting, it's all his fault.  It seems like no matter what he does, what he says, they're not going to like him or even get used to him.  Watching them all, getting along so well together, Tony almost wishes that he had met them under different circumstances.  So that maybe they'd be more than just the unsuspecting kids who were forced to save his ass and take him home.

That night, as they all huddle in their sleeping bags and whisper in hushed tones to each other, Tony hears Thor's not-so-quiet whisper voice regaling the group with a tale of what appears to be a memory of a prank his brother once pulled on their parents. He turns over and presses his ear hard into the pillow, curling up into himself in the warmth created by his own body heat and blanket. (It's a little cold, but like hell he's going to impose even more by asking for a thicker blanket.)

Closing his eyes, Tony wills the tension to leave his body, and eventually - lulled to unconsciousness by the soft murmur of laughing voices - he drifts into sleep.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK SO: first of all, I DID NOT GET MY SAT SCORES. i know - what??!!?? yeah, me too. even though the last batch was supposed to come in at 3pm, it is now wednesday morning and i have not yet received my multiple choice scores (let alone my essay lmaoo)  
> ANOTHER THING: yall i was in tpumps (for those who don't live in los angeles, this is an extremely popular boba place) and i was talking to my friend AND I DROPPED MY PHONE AND THE LCD SHATTERED. so not only was i enormously stressed out, i ruined my samsung and now i'm using my old 2015 s2 phone. lol.  
> and my dad says i can get a new phone if i get a really really good sat score, but like,, i would not rely on that bahaha  
> -  
> so, how'd you like it? :)


	11. bright dead things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sarah talks to her son. they all go on a non-chaperoned mini excursion to a mall pavilion in which tony sees more "evidence" of bucky and steve dating. sarah talks to tony - just tony, not tony stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait (10 days??) yikes. life's been busy  
> -  
> also thanks for all the comments everyone i treasure those damn things oof

 

 

"when the plane went down in san francisco,

i thought of my friend m.  he's obsessed with

plane crashes.  he memorizes the wrecked

metal details, the clear cool skies cut by black

scars of smoke.  once, while driving, he told

me about all the crashes: the one in blue 

kentucky, in yellow iowa.  it was almost a year

before i learned his brother was a pilot.  

i can't help it, i love the way men love."

 _\- ada limón, "accident report in the tall, tall weeds", from_ bright dead things

 

 

**11.**

 

"Rise and shine, buttercup," Bucky says, pushing his feet into Steve's shoulder where the blonde is snuggled up in his sleeping bag.

Steve crinkles his nose, only half-awake.  He makes out his best friend's face hovering over him, a big smear in the dim morning light.  "Did you just call me...buttercup?"

"Yup," Bucky says cheerfully, and twirls a lock of hair around his finger in a poor "valley girl" mockery.  "Up 'n at 'em, Stevie."

The blonde just groans and rolls over in his sleeping bag.  "What time is it?"

"Nine, you lazy cow," Clint calls out.  Natasha just rolls her eyes and adds, "Don't worry, Clinton here just woke up."  The archer pouts at her with a glare.

"A grand morning to you, Steven!" Thor says with a great cheery smile on his face, and wow, how can this guy be so often broody or happy?  Where's the neutral face?

Steve turns, scrubbing a hand over his face tiredly, and catches sight of Bruce sitting muddled in his bag.  It's an adorable sight - Bruce in general is adorable, really - and his eyes soften.

"Come on, let's go," Bucky says, pulling at Steve.  "Breakfast time, then we're heading into town.  I talked to Sarah already, and she says it won't be a problem as long as all of us go."

"Town to do what...," Steve says.  He squints suspiciously around the room.  This situation reminds him of last year, when Clint had gotten the bright idea to go skateboarding in an abandoned water park.  Except it's a lot harder to skate down an enclosed slide, it seems, and Barton had ended up with concussion from slamming his head on the roof of it.  Honestly, it's just surprising all in itself that they didn't get caught for trespassing.

"Anything," Bucky chirps back, then a slow smirk stretches across his face.  "You're thinking about the water park incident from last year, aren't you."

"Can you  _stop_ bringing that up already?" Clint moans.

"Not my fault you're a dimwit," Bucky hollers before turning back to Steve and winking exaggeratedly.  "Besides, I heard Sharon Carter works the counter at 7-Eleven now."

"I don't - "  Steve sputters.  "Stop holding that against me, Buck, that's not fair."  Two summers ago, Steve had had a crush on an incredibly gorgeous twenty year old named Peggy who interned at the hospital where his mom worked as a nurse.  Later that July, he'd met Sharon Carter for the first time, a blonde who was cute in a pigtails, braces, kiddish sort of way.  Sharon had ended up planting a sloppy one on him at a mid-July summer celebration, and he had ended up mortified when Peggy introduced Sharon as her  _niece_  two weeks later only for the younger girl to announce that he was the "high schooler who was in love with her".  Not to mention Sharon was twelve when Steve was fourteen, which was just kind of weird.  
  
"Aw, look at how red Cap is," Clint says with a grin.  Steve just sighs in mock-exasperation at both the archer and the use of his nickname.  Two years back, a kid at summer camp named Erskine had started calling him "Captain America" for kicks - probably because Steve had bulked up during the session and took charge at every athletic event - and it had just stuck.  It's a silly nickname, and a bit pretentious, but Steve can admit now that it holds some weight.  After all, it represents, at least to him, the muscles and toleration/respect he gained when people realized he was no longer the scrawny, asthmatic kid he once was.  Not to mention the medical issues he had had due to his underweight and under oxygenated body, which had disappeared too.  It was nothing short of a miracle.

"She liked  _me,_ I didn't like  _her,"_ he says pointedly, swatting Bucky's hand away when his friend tries to sling an arm in mock comfort around his shoulders.

"Alright, Steve-o, whatever you say," Clint sings, but doesn't push it.  "She's cuter now anyway, now that she's gotten rid of those pigtails and braces."

Steve just rolls his eyes.  He doesn't even want to ask Clint how he knows that.   _This is going to be a_ long  _day._

 

Before they depart for town, Sarah pulls Steve aside and says quietly, "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Ma," Steve says, once they're in her bedroom.  A churning has started up in his gut, small but violent.  He remembers this, all too well.  That  _can I talk to you, Stevie, I need to tell you something,_ and sitting him by her side on the bedspread.  A three-year-old sickly Steve, nose running from a cold like usual, his mother taking him by the hands, combing through his tufty blonde hair.   _Your papa is...he has something important to do.  He isn't coming home._ _Remember what I told you about God?  Well, Papa is with Him now.  Helping Him with his duties._

Sarah closes the door with a soft snick and then sits down on the bed, patting the spot beside her on the comforter.

"I wanted to talk to you about Tony," Sarah says, and her blue blue eyes meet her son's.

Steve tenses immediately, something that of course does not go unnoticed to his mother's sharp eye.

"What about him?"

"He's withdrawn," the woman says bluntly.  "Very reserved.  He acts like Bruce did the first year, actually."  Oh, Steve remembers that time well.  Bruce was nervous and fidgety, as if he expected someone to jump out and tell him this group of friends was a cruel joke to mock his lonesomeness.  But Stark?  Stark isn't  _insecure._ Stark is...he's bold, and brash, and just doesn't talk because he thinks he's better than them. 

"He doesn't seem to think he belongs here, Steve. what's going on?  I want to make sure it's just a nerves thing and that you all are making an effort to include him.  You're a good person, love, but everyone can be... well.  Unknowingly cruel, sometimes."

"Well, he  _doesn't_  belong here," Steve responds, more harshly than intended.  He sags back, and Sarah touches his shoulder.

"What's going on, Steve?"

"Ma, remember how I said Stark broke Bucky's metal arm?" Steve says slowly; he waits for his mother to acknowledge this before continuing.  "Tony's... Tony is Stark.  His name is Tony Stark."

Sarah's eyebrows lower.  "Really," she says without inflection.  "That's...surprising.  He didn't strike me as someone who would do that, but everyone has different sides."  She shakes her head.  "I'm disappointed to hear that.  He seemed very polite but timid.

Steve's face hardens at the thought of his mother liking what she's seen of Tony Stark.  "He's not," he says firmly.  "He broke Bucky's prosthetic and he's always strutting around like, like he knows everything and is better than everyone."

"Why did he do that in the first place?" Sarah watches her son carefully, pushes a longish blonde lock of hair from his forehead with a thumb.  "Did he and Bucky get into a fight?"

"Bucky was defending Bruce, because Bruce was getting picked on," Steve says moodily.  "Then Stark came in because he's friends with those ass - bullies - and smashed Buck's arm with a textbook.  It was horrible, ma."

Sarah frowns, her face clouding over.  "Poor boy," she murmurs, pulling Steve into her side.  "So Bucky didn't do anything?"

Steve hisses inside his head.   _Why do you keep pushing?_  he thinks, mulishly.   _Bucky's a good person, you know that.  He's family, even if he isn't related by blood._ But suddenly, a memory pops into his head.  Of seeing a video recording (before Ty Stone somehow managed to pay everyone into deleting the evidence) of Bucky yelling at some blonde girl, calling her a slut.  Of Stark charging in, shouting, "You don't call her that!"

"No," Steve says quickly, too quickly, and Sarah presses, "What does nothing mean?  What did he do?"

"He called...He called one of Stark's, I don't know, hookups, a slut and said something about her, um, being like that," Steve mutters finally.  "But that's only because she's always with those bullies that pick on Bruce.  Stone called him a, a fag.  And Stark's no better than a bully himself.  He broke Bucky's arm, Ma, the one you...the one you worked so hard to get."

Sarah sighs; she is old in the light, and sometimes her son forgets just how much his mother has aged.  "I agree, that's much too far.  Bucky only did what he thought was right and happened to get angry.  What Tony did was needlessly cruel and uncalled for."

Steve nods fervently, but then his mother continues: "However, have you considered you might be being too hard on the boy?  He really does remind me of Bruce, that first year."

"Mom, Stark's a bully.  Trust me," Steve says, then stands up.  The mattress whines at the loss of weight.

Sarah looks at him.  Her eyes are the same color as his.  "Okay, love," she says.  "But try, alright?  With Tony.  He might end up being a friend.  Things are always more complicated than they appear to be."

Steve sighs, moving to the door to join his patiently waiting friends (plus Stark). "Not this time, Ma.  But alright."

 

On the way into town, Tony looks out the window.  His face is so close his breath fogs the glass.  It's snowing outside, and it's so goddamn foggy too - the kind of day Tony loves best.  After the kidnapping, any kind of heat tends to make him uncomfortable.  Plus, there's just something so raw and lovely about not being able to see anything, about the sky being clogged up to oblivion like you could just disappear up there for eons and never reach where you thought you might end up.  The sky is pure white and blends into the snow cleanly, only a thin strip of haziness hinting at the horizon.  Tony wonders if there are trees behind that thick fog, and imagines dark green pines dusted in powder.

Glancing around the car, Tony traces a sad face absentmindedly on the frosted glass.  It pouts at him, its eyes wounded splotches and its mouth curved downward severely.  Lastly, he adds a circle for a head and then fluffy hair to resemble his own.   _Me,_  he thinks, and smiles a little.  His face feels stretched, hollow.   _That's me._

"Okay, we're here," Steve says, pulling the van into a parking lot.  Tony peeks out the window; they're in front of a little outdoor mall pavilion.  Bruce leans over and tells him quietly, "We come here every break as tradition.  We buy snacks for movie night and anything else, just for fun.  Sometimes we buy little trinkets for each other too, but normally we all buy gifts beforehand that are more thought out."

 _Wow,_  Tony thinks but doesn't say.

As soon as they exit the van, the group - led by Barnes - heads straight for the 7-Eleven, pushing and jostling each other and howling with laughter.  The bored-looking girl at the counter perks up when she sees them and chirps, "Hey, Steve!  Hey everyone!"

"Hi Sharon," Steve replies, grinning.  His smile looks a little tense, strangely enough, but for the most part his face is kind.  In fact, he's so disgustingly nice, it's actually ridiculous.  Tony frowns.

Thor snags a large foam hammer from a toy basket and spins it around fluidly, pointing it at Barnes.  "Stubborn foe!" he thunders.  "I shall attempt to best you in combat!"

Tony stares with no little amount of bemusement as Barnes grabs a foam axe and tries to smack Thor in the head with it.  The blonde ducks and hits Barnes in the face with his hammer, crowing, "I have won!"

"I  let you," Barnes retorts, and Rogers laughs and grabs the axe.

"My turn, because Buck here can't fight at all."

"Who the hell uses an axe to fight anyway??"

While Romanoff, Barton, and Thor team up to fight Barnes, Bruce, and Rogers, Tony slips off into one of the back aisles to have some time to himself.  The back is where all the cold products are, so when he turns he comes face-to-face with shelves upon shelves of ice cream, frozen vegetables, and other delicacies.  _"Hard and delicious!"_  one box filled with popsicles announces, and Tony snorts.  That's got to have been done deliberately.

Rogers rounds the corner and sprints down the aisle, a hair tie in his hand.  Barnes follows at breakneck speed, messy hair loose from his ponytail and fluttering all over.  Tony steps closer to the freezers uncomfortably, noticing suddenly how Barnes's ass is very, very noticeable in those jeans.

What is wrong with him? he thinks to himself in disgust.  Lusting - even if only for a second - after a guy who not only hates his guts, but is dating Rogers.  He really is the slut Howard says he is.

"Stark," Romanoff says as she steps up neatly behind him, and Tony almost butts his head into the freezer door in shock.

"Warn a guy, would you?" he snaps to distract himself from his ferociously pounding heart.  

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him.  "We're leaving in two minutes.  Follow us, or you'll get lost and when we leave you'll be stuck here."  Natasha really is ruthless; Tony would honestly find it outrageously attractive if not for the fact that she can kill him eighteen different ways with a fork.

"No need to worry about me," he says easily, giving her a winning SI-patented grin.  "I'll be right behind."

"Uh huh."  The redhead gives him a flat once-over.  "Buy yourself something sugary.  You look like you need it."

 

That night, Tony comes into the kitchen for a late night glass of water only to find Ms. Rogers seated at the rickety circular kitchen table, blonde hair pulled back in a loose bun.

"Tony," she says kindly, from where she sits with a mug of tea and a laptop resting on the surface in front of her.  "May I talk to you for a moment?"

Tony pauses from where he's half in, half out of the kitchen.  "Of course, ma'am," he says, politeness kicking in.  Too many banquets, too many business parties for Stark Industries, too many meetings with important people cooing over his intelligence and riches and "handsome looks" to lose that habit so easily.

The woman tuts.  "Sarah," she reminds him.

"Sarah," Tony acquiesces after a brief silence.

"How are you doing?" Sarah says with a soft smile as he pulls out a chair to join her at the table.  "Steve told me you didn't have anywhere to go, so you were invited to stay here."

Tony tenses.  "I'm sorry for imposing," he says quickly.  "I just - I couldn't get a plane in time, Dad doesn't let me use the private jet, and I'll be gone soon, as soon as the blizzards end and I can book a flight."

"I have six teenagers in my house right now, including you," Sarah says with a gentle laugh.  "Believe me, you're no bother."

"Um - is that all Rog - Steve - said?" Tony mumbles.  Steve's mom must not know, because she's not kicking him out or yelling or anything.

Sarah looks up at him, and it strikes Tony at how blue her eyes are, so like her son's.  Except her gaze is soft, not so glacier, and Tony wonders if this is how Steve looks when there's no hatred lurking there - if that's how he looks at his friends.  "I know about Bucky's arm," she says, and Tony's heart sinks like a stone.  He already knows what's coming - the only thing he's worried about is how he'll hitchhike to the airport with barely any cars coming round because of the snow.

"What you did to Bucky was wrong," Sarah says.  "I understand you, in turn, were trying to defend your own friend, but Bucky is very... he's been through a lot in his life, and he and Steve have been best friends from the very beginning.  I can't forget that, even if I might want to."

Tony looks down at the table, studies its worn but clean surface.  Something inside him - great and black and bottomless - yawns open.  "I'm sorry.  I understand, I - I'll go pack my bag now.  It's fine.  I don't really..."

Ms. Rogers frowns.  "Whatever gave you the idea I'd throw you out?" she says, and Tony hastens to apologize.  "No," she says, cutting him off, "don't say sorry. I meant, I would never leave a child out on their own, especially not in this weather."  She studies him.  "And I don't think you deserve anything close to that sort of punishment anyhow."

"Why  _not?"_  Tony says, and now his frustration's boiling over.  He's confused, and tired, and he hasn't gotten his glass of water yet, and now Steve's mom is being weird and telling him things he doesn't know how to react to.  "I hurt Barnes!  I smashed his arm to bits!  I'm not - I only built him another one because it's easy and I'm rich and I had the resources, it wasn't even that hard.  If you  _cared_ about Rogers or Barnes at all, you'd - "  He snaps his mouth shut.  Sarah is tenser now, besides him, and he almost flinches, waiting for the rage.   _Nice going, Stark, insult the person who's housing you.  The only one who wants to give you a chance, even if you can't figure out why._

"Bucky's new arm is from you?"  There's a note of something in Ms. Rogers's voice, soft enough to be pity even though it isn't, that Tony can't decipher.

"I..."  Tony realizes his mistake too late.  This has always been a problem; he opens his mouth, and things he doesn't mean to say spill out.  "I mean, I'm sorry, yes, I knew he wouldn't want to wear anything I made, I'm sorry, I just thought - because Bruce and I talk sometimes, so I thought he could just pretend it was him or a friend from science camp, I don't know.  I didn't mean to lie I just I don't know how to apologize with words, I'm really - I work with metal, I invent tech and create robots, I don't - it's just - I don't really - "

Somehow, Sarah understands what he's trying to say even though his words are kind of a jumbled mess.  "I won't tell them if you don't want me to," she says softly, "but I know how Steve - they all - can be sometimes.  They blame you with good reason, and with very old emotion, but they also refuse to give you a chance.  You seem like a good kid, Tony.  Bad people don't try to make things right."

Tony fidgets in his chair; eleven pm is too late for this.  And this - this reminds him of Jarvis,  _shit,_ and he's tired of disappointing people who believe in him.  What's worse - always disappointing the ones who give you chances, or never being given a chance?  Tony's been on both ends so often that he doesn't know anymore.  He knows Sarah's type - she's one of those people who think that anybody can be saved given the right support and opportunities.  But Tony is  _rich,_ and he has a lot of friends, even if they don't actually like him.  He has everything anyone could ever wish for.  He has things people would  _die_ for.  How can you save someone who should already be saved?

Sarah seems to notice his discomfort and says, "Fair warning - if you touch any of them again, I'll wash your mouth out with soap regardless of the fact that you are not my sons.  But I doubt I'll have to."  Her smile is soft, and lit up by the warm orange lamp at her elbow.  "Good night, Tony.  "I'm glad you're here."

Tony swallows, and looks to the side for a second, where the sink is and the curtains hang, shadowing the moonlight trying to slip through the window.  The silence buzzes in his ears, pregnant with things he wants to say and things he wants.  "Goodnight," he says finally, and thanks the gods that Ms. Rogers doesn't comment on the embarrassing crack in his voice.  She's already turning her attention back to her computer and the papers in her lap, so Tony fills up his glass of water and then exits the softly lit kitchen.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got my sat score back...it was ok, but i'm disappointed because it's not within the range i wanted either. i'll be taking it again though... on the bright side, my essay score was 23/24 so i'm proud of that haha  
> -  
> +++ next chapter is more straight-out interaction between tony and the rest of the group!! i'm trying to figure out whether or not to blend ch12 with ch13 because it would actually work really well. not sure yet. but so far ch12 is more tony ptsd ( :(? ;)? ) and ch13 is bucky and tony one-on-one // HAVE I ESTABLISHED YET THAT SARAH HAS ADOPTED BUCKY? I CAN'T REMEMBER ANYMORE AND I'M TOO LAZY TO CHECK  
> -  
> uh, just a fair warning, there really is not going to be that much howard bashing in this fic. it's more centered on misunderstandings of tony's character rather than that howard is some evil monster. i mean, howard is cruel to his son, but there will be no familial violence or extreme events. decided to put this note just in case, because i think some of yall are expecting some huge thing where howard blows up and idk, tries to murder tony or smthn lol. i like those fics, but i don't think this one is going to be focused on that sort of thing.


	12. seams / unwinding / night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bucky n tony talk. nightmare central

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnngh i'm a bad person...sorry guys. i haven't updated in like two weeks lmao... anyway a guest commented "you dead?" and then i realized i should probably start being responsible. and also i was thinking, what if i actually died? you guys would never know. and then my inbox would just keep filling up and there would be blanket silence forever and ever and ever...
> 
> oof that got dark fast  
> -  
> IT'S GOING TO BE A LONG TIME BEFORE BUCKY APOLOGIZES FOR CALLING BECKY A SLUT. SORRY LOL. I KNOW A LOT OF YOU REALLY WANT SOME SORT OF APOLOGY. also but for the record - bucky doesn't actually think becky is a slut? he just lashed out in the moment because he hates ty stone so much. doesn't excuse him, but it provides a reason for his actions  
> -  
> @gratifiednabiha procrastinating on apush hw is the most relatable thing i've read all day

 

 

something grabs at the veins in

  
my eyes / and unwinds the seams in the dawn.

  
\- _kadya chavkin_

 

**12.**

 

_T_ _o_ _ny_ _blinks, and he is thirteen._

_Raza - the leader of the Ten Rings group that kidnapped him for ransom - leers over him, a twisted snarl on his face.  "Your father refuses to deliver what I want," Raza says, his voice ice cold.  "He is a fool, and you will pay the price."_

  _At first, all Tony can think is_  fuck you _through the heady fear_ , _and he regards the Afghan with a stubborn glare.  But that's when Raza motions one of his men forward and takes the silver box from the man and...Tony recognizes what it is immediately, of course he does.  It's a lighter._

_"What are you...what are you going to do to me?"  His mouth is dry, and he should be_ strong,  _God he knows he should be, but -_

_"Guess," Raza says, and uncaps it._

_"P-Please," he says, trying to erase the frankly fucking pathetic panic out of his voice.  He trembles against the bonds.  "I can get my dad to pay.  Just let me talk to him."_

_"You stupid boy," Raza says.  His eyes narrow, but a smile splits his face.  It is an unnatural smile, as if there's something inherently, deeply wrong with it.  "Do you think I am that gullible?"   He spits onto the dusty floor and then hits Tony in the face so hard the boy's ears ring.  "You will pay for your father's refusal.  You will pay for your offenses."_

_"Please," Tony says.  His voice breaks.  He notices one of the men in Raza's group fidgeting, as if he is uneasy, as if his limit is somewhere at torturing - maybe even killing - a child.  But no one helps him.  Tony, like always, is alone._

_Raza flicks the lighter on, and grabs the boy by his chin.  "I will enjoy," he says softly, "watching you as you scream."   The man's voice is almost tender now.  He brushes the already-blossoming bruise on Tony's cheek with the pad of a thumb.  The air is so, so silent, except for the slight crackle of the flame, and the breathing of the men surrounding them.  And for a second, Tony thinks it's not going to happen.  Raza won't do it.  No one would hurt him like this, he's not kidnapped, this kind of thing only happens in war-torn countries.  He can feel the heat, the flicker, see the light behind his eyelids, but it won't happen.  He's a Stark, and Starks are untouchable._

_A man laughs in the background.  Raza's hand is two inches from his skin.  "Ah, Anthony Stark.  Family can be a terrible thing."_

 

Tony bolts upright with a gasp, a shout still forming in his mouth.  A strangled, frankly embarrassing kind of moan escapes him, and he looks around wildly, praying everyone's asleep.  

They are.  Good.

His heart is still frantically beating like a rabbit in his chest, and he can already feel a panic attack looming near.  Even though not the entire bedroom is dark - there are some lights outside that cast a white glow through the window to match with the falling snow - and Bruce, Barnes, and everyone else are sprawled out in their sleeping bags, he still feels unsettled.  Scared.  As if Raza could jump in through the window at any moment, say  _Anthony Stark_ in the voice he remembers from his dreams.  

There is something wet on his knuckles, and he peers down to realize his nails are biting into the skin there.  For a second, he just watches his hands, clenched as if of their own accord, before he snaps to full awareness of what he's doing and yanks his fingers away.   _Stop it, Tony,_ he scolds himself mentally.   _You're not crazy yet, so stop._

Outside, snow is still drifting down heavily even though it's hard to see in the black, and Tony imagines how softly the flurries must fall before they hit the ground.  He likes to compare them to feathers, or his mother's eyes and fingers when she plays the piano and the music seems to wake her up - her gaze, wide and warm brown, the lilting melodies that could carry him away into half-dreams about nothing.  He thinks, in a way, he is like Maria: drifting through life with those sad Carbonell eyes, smiling at her husband, going to functions, drifting, drifting, always drifting.  Not away, exactly, but in some foreign direction - somewhere her son can't reach.

The snow watches Tony through the window; Tony watches back.  It's 2am, and the roads must be sparkling with ice right now.  It must look so delicate, a winter wonderland.  He thinks of Bach, and Mozart, Cynthia Raim and Wilhelm Kempf, of mothers tugging little boys into laps and saying,  _"Here, Antonio, it goes A, then C, then F."_ He thinks about going outside.  He thinks about a lot of things.

He thinks about the fresh, icy crispness of the air and snow melting against his skin, and rolls down the sleeves of his hoodie before getting up and padding over to the doorway.  There's a shift behind him just as he steps out of the bedroom, but since it's probably just someone rolling over in their sleep, Tony doesn't even bother to look back before he's down the stairs and out the door.

 

Bucky is watching, only half-conscious, as Stark pads over to the doorway before disappearing neatly out the room.  Even though his brain startles and starts flagging warning signs in his head, his eyes are still heavy with sleep as he scrubs a hand - his flesh hand - over his face blearily.  He'd only woken up two seconds ago, his body having alerted him to movement even while he was unconscious.

Yeah, he's always more alert now.  Since his parents' deaths, since the crash, he hasn't been wholly the same.

 _What the fuck, go follow him,_ his brain yells.   _Stark could be - Stark could be - doing something bad right now._

With a soft grunt, the teen sits up and quickly scans to make sure everyone else hasn't been awoken by Stark or himself.  Then, pushing himself up with his solid new arm, he lightly makes his way down the stairs and after the other boy.

Outside, Stark is sitting on the steps of the house and appears to be doing nothing but watching bits of snow flurry down.  He must be really deep in thought, because he doesn't even notice when Bucky cracks the door open.  Anyhow, Bucky doesn't trust that, not at all; Stark isn't the type of person to do things without missions.  Even before the guy broke Bucky's prosthetic, Bucky's never really liked him in the first place.  Everyone knows Stark, even though he's a new student this year; they've all seen him in newspapers a few times, and definitely his father.  And to be honest, Stark's a magnetic character.  You can hate him with all your heart, yet he never seems to be the figure in the background.  But Bucky's met many guys like him before; after all, he's had to defend Steve from many of those in the past, when they've driven up in their Aston Martins and Teslas and yelled "shrimpy little faggot".  (If only they knew which one of them actually had those thoughts).  Coming from a poor family in a poor neighborhood, okay, yeah, Bucky will admit he kind of distrusts most rich people (beside Thor, he's great) in general.  It might not be right, but it certainly is personal.

Stark reaches a hand out all of a sudden, catches bits of snow in his hand, and sighs.  Bucky looks out, to see what Stark could possibly be wanting to get out of sitting on an icy step at one am in the goddamn morning, but he doesn't see much.  It's so dark now you can't even see anything beside the few feet of snow beyond the wooden steps, lit up by the yellow porch light.

Bucky steps forward, and his boot accidentally makes a creaking noise.  Stark turns sharply, his eyes widening, and he flinches back from where he's sitting.  "Shit, Barnes, give a guy a heart attack."  Stark awkwardly scratches the back of his head.  "Uh, sorry, I wasn't.  Um.  I wanted to just look at the snow.  I guess you can tell me to leave if you want, it's just easier to get fresh air out here."

He's right, Bucky notices.  He feels a lot better outside already, in the biting cold, a respite from the itchy feeling he gets of being trapped inside.

"What are you doing out here?" Stark asks curiously, then winces.  "I mean - not in a rude way.  Just, why?"

"Enjoying the scenery," Bucky decides to go with.  "Just like you, I assume."

Stark nods, the ghost of something flashing across his face.  "You can sit, if you want."

Bucky does; he tries to be as far away from Stark as possible, but the steps are so narrow that they end up being nearly side-by-side anyway.  He notices Stark is shivering, probably unused to the frigid weather because of his childhood growing up in Malibu.  And technically, he doesn't really need both of the jackets he grabbed on his way out the door, but one thing people need to learn is Bucky does not always feel morally inclined to be a good person.  That's mostly Steve's thing.

"I'm really bad at handling the cold, but winter is one of my favorite seasons," Stark is saying quietly, and Bucky realizes with a start that the guy is talking to him.  He already has a comeback on his tongue, something along the lines of _whatever, fuck off asshole,_ but then his brain registers what Stark's said and it sounds almost... friendly.  Or, at least, like an olive branch of some sort.  Okay, he can play along.

"I hate winter," he says in response.  "Sometimes."

"Why?" Stark says, then his gaze flickers uncomfortably, almost like he regrets asking the question.

Bucky looks up at the sky, with its huge white-blue moon, and his mouth moves of its own accord.  "My parents got shot in the middle of December, and then a month later I got into a car accident on the way to my new foster family.  Such a messy injury that the doctors had t' amputate my arm.  That's how the Rogers caught wind of where I was.  Before it was like I'd disappeared off the face of the earth."  _L_ _et's see how he'll react to that,_ he thinks bitterly.  Honestly, he's still a little shocked at himself for spilling out his secrets to a dick he barely knows, but really he thinks it's because he's itching for a fight.  Stark will make fun of him, and Bucky will have a reason to punch that stupid face in.  The other boy may be good-looking, but it won't stop Bucky from breaking that nose of his.  And maybe it's also because sometimes it's just easier to talk about things with people you  _don't_ know, people you  _don't_ like.  These people don't expect anything from you; you don't expect anything from them.  

To Bucky's surprise, Stark doesn't mock him.  In fact, his eyes soften into something almost sympathetic, like he could possibly know what watching your parents get shot in your shitty apartment building feels like, or seeing the windshield of a vehicle embed itself in a CPS officer's face.  "I'm sorry for breaking your arm," Stark says quietly.  "Not just because of the backstory, but because it was a shitty thing to do.  I could say I reacted in the moment, but that's not really an excuse.  And I, um, understand, you know.  That you guys don't like me.  I mean, you don't have to like me.  I get why you wouldn't.  But if there's anything I can do to stop you from hating me, I'll.  um.  I can do it.  Not that I'd do it just for forgiveness, but if you want."

Stark's gaze is so intense that Bucky almost forgets what to say.  He acknowledges what the shorter teen has said with a tip of his head, but deigns not to answer.

"Uh - okay," Stark says, and this apologetic, stammering guy is nothing like the enigmatic, smooth-talking persona Bucky normally spots around school.  Surprisingly, it works, though.  If Stark had tried to charm him, Bucky probably would've slugged him.

A few minutes pass by in silence, except for the sound of the wind and the gentle rustling of the trees.  Bucky can feel Stark glancing at him every so often, but he keeps his eyes trained on the dark, on the moon and sprinkle of stars above and ahead of him.

"Barnes," Stark says softly after a moment.  Bucky turns suspiciously, looks at the other boy.  Stark's eyes are bright, even in the darkness, and it's startling for a moment.  "I hate summertime.  I used to love it, but now I can't...I don't like the beach or the sun or anything.  I used to love it all, but now it feels...I don't know.  Sometimes it feels like an open coffin."

Bucky waits, but no explanation seems to be forthcoming.  "Why are you telling me this?" he goes with, because he isn't sure if he wants to hear some stupid jokey reason for why Stark doesn't like heat.

Stark shrugs.  He seems small all of a sudden, curled up in that thin baggy sweatshirt on the step.  "I just...I don't know."

Another beat passes by.  Bucky is still watching the moon, and it seems to glow brighter in his vision.  Stark twitches, then says - his voice faint under the wind - "You like your new arm, right?"

"What?" Bucky says, his voice immediately snappish.  If this is some ploy, to remind him of what he's lost...

"It feels better, right?"  Stark's tone sounds genuine, very nervous but earnest.

"Yeah, sure," Bucky says, unwilling to share anything about how much he really does like the new arm.  Jesus, he's really got to hunt down Bruce's friend and praise the shit out of the guy.

"Good," Stark says, looking weirdly relieved and even almost proud.  "Good."

It's honestly been an odd conversation, but a few times Bucky has to shake himself into remembering Stark is not someone a decent person would want to be friends, or even acquaintances with.  It's probably because he's tired and it's cold out and he's been vividly recalling his past trauma, so he's all kinds of fucked up right now, but in this moment Stark no longer seems like a monster and more like a timid guy just trying to make things right.

Abruptly, he gets up.  This is too much, too sudden, and he needs to get away.  From winter, from Stark.  From all the icky things something inside him is telling him that he can't quite understand.  "I'm going back to sleep," he says roughly, as Stark watches him go.

"Good night," billionaire Howard Stark's son says, already turning back to the dark; Stark's face is yin-yanged in shadow, like he belongs in a painting made without color.  Right before Bucky closes the door, he sees Stark's shoulders slump, and what it reminds him of is almost intriguing yet utterly foolish at the same time - as if Stark's curving back under the porch light is carrying the weight of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what u think? :') yall i have like 60 things in my inbox i need to check still yikess  
> -  
> also some of you guys give me the funniest comments i swear. whenever people scream-comment it just gives me so much joy  
> -  
> bonus! this is an underrated poem --> loose translations by zoë bodzas


	13. actuality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> insight into thor. some canon-accurate harry potter references (i'm really sorry if you've never read/watched hp because there are a lot). // just a fun kinda-filler chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wARNiNg: there is an instance of the "f" word and not the one that rhymes with suck  
> (because homophobia,, but as i'm sure you can tell by now, the author is probably not straight and this story is DEFINITELY not straight)  
> -  
> @peggyalison: i'm a little scared now  
> @asaelia: you had an aneurysm? i have those all the time  
> @complaining_is_cathartic: :)  
> @"lua": being called a pure cinnamon roll is such a pure cinnamon roll thing to say  
> @aryiakirby: the cherry to my ice cream to my root beer float  
> @i_put_myself_back_in_the_narrative: we have a telepathic bond  
> @"thanklorduarealive": i thanked the lord too. but hell yea multilingual tony is the hottest thing around  
> @darlingpen: i always see your really sweet comments but idk if i've acknowledged them yet so here you go  
> @ everyone: not gonna lie, i sometimes get some weird comments...but for the most part you guys are beautiful gifts // also tbh yall probably dont remember what you commented last chapter and have no idea what im replying to and i should probably do individual replies but,, lmaoo

 

 

_"i realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, our actual night, the hell of it, the senseless emptiness."_

― jack kerouac,  _on the road_

 

**13.**

 

Thor Odinson really does not hate Tony Stark as much as it may seem.  

Back then - before Loki started hating him - he might have turned easily against Stark, and his arrogance would have automatically placed him at a higher degree of worth than the other boy.  (In those days, he thinks his arrogance might have led him to believe he were better than everyone else, honestly.)

But now, looking at this boy whose hands flutter nervously in his lap at the breakfast table, and watches Sarah with uncertain eyes, and seems almost afraid of all of them, Thor just can't seem to muster up enough hatred.  He knows all too well what has happened with Barnes's arm, and this pains him - he knows the arm carries a lot of significance for his good friend. But today, when he looks at Stark during breakfast - a silent figure hunched over his plate - Thor just sees another version of Loki, slight and dark and overwhelmingly alone.  

On the outside, Thor is a bundle of loudness and cheer, but on the inside, he thinks of his brother.  He remembers being twelve and a ten-year-old Loki confessing to his first ever crush - who just so happened to be one of Thor's best friends - Fandral.   _"Are you mad, Thor?  That I like your friend?  And should I tell Father?"_ Loki whispers in his memories.   _"Would he encourage me?  I want to tell Mother, too, but I don't know...I feel like Father should know first.  He's always telling us we should come to him first for everything."_

 _"Of course not.  Fandral can act a bit untamed, at times, but I can see why you like him,"_ Thor had whispered back.   _"And definitely tell Father.  Remember when I liked Sif before we became friends?"_ Loki nodded.   _"That's why Sif's father was knighted.  Father said he was a great man anyway."_

Loki's eyes had gone round with surprise and awe.   _"Father_ did _that?  Just so you could...become friends with her?"_

 _"Yes."_ Young Thor had nodded ecstatically.   _"Father says he will always help me with what makes me happy."_

The very next day, an eager Loki had gone up to their father, professing that he liked Fandral a lot and wanted to know what to do in order to become closer to the older boy.  Thor remembers coming to Loki's room later that day, all smiles and laughter, asking even before he'd fully opened the door: _"So, what did Father say?  Maybe he will have a banquet, and invite Fandral's family, and have Fandral sit next to you - "_

The door swung open to reveal a red-eyed, red-nosed Loki sitting cross-legged on his bed, a book at his side and a dark bruise blossoming on one cheek.   _"Loki!"_ Thor cried.   _"What happened?"_

Thor doesn't think he will ever forget the look Loki gave him that day, the haunted eyes full of betrayal and pain.   _"You told me it was okay,"_ Loki said to him, lifting his head and pale fingers clenched hard around the spine of his book.   _"You didn't tell me that that made me - that I'm a - a monster.  You didn't tell me that I'm a f-faggot."_

"Thor," Steve says kindly from beside him, and Thor jolts back to reality to realize that not only has Steve noticed him staring blankly at his plate, but Stark is watching him as well.  Steve touches his shoulder gently. "Are you alright?"

"Verily," Thor responds, giving the other blonde a warm smile.  "I must have drifted into a daydream for a moment." (Here's another thing about Thor: he knows he doesn't talk like the others.  Part of it is his upbringing and how he was taught English, but the other part is that Loki always giggled whenever Thor tried to dramatize the English language, claiming that it sounded _too_ silly and _too_ overdone.  It's become a bit of a habit, now; now it is simply how Thor talks.)

Steve quirks a smile at him, the concern having completely vanished from his features, before turning back to the conversation at hand.  It appears to be between all the teenagers at the table excluding Stark and Thor, and seems to be regarding...the best way to catch a rabbit.  Huh.

Thor glances to the side, and notices Stark is still watching him, something troubled and old in his expression.  "Do I have something on my face, Stark?" he teases, smiling slightly at the shorter boy, but a painful image of Loki flashes to mind again when Stark only shudders back a little.

"Sorry," Stark mutters.  "No. Sorry."

Clint, from where he's seated across from Stark at the table, looks their way.  "Is he bothering you, Thor?" the teen says with a grimace. "It's fine, man. Just ignore him."

Thor opens his mouth to say no - to say _no, it was a mere jest on my part -_ but Clint's already turned back to the conversation about catching rabbits by then.  He notices Stark hunching even lower over his plate now, and the memory of a little boy with a bruise knots in his gut.   _You are a coward, Thor,_ his mind whispers, and he hears the painful, true conclusion in the sound of his brother's bitter voice.

 

"Clean up, clean up, I don't have to do my share!" Barton sings as he gets up from the table.  "Clean up, clean up, Nat and Bucky, everywhere!"

"Clint," Natasha warns, making the sandy-haired teen shut up immediately.

"Aw, alright, spoilsport," Barton pouts once he's a safe enough distance away.  "Have fun cleaning, though. I had to do that with Steve yesterday."

Natasha rolls her eyes.  "Barton, I have so much dirt on you.  I could easily make you take my spot washing dishes if I really felt the need."

"Blackmail!" Clint says, eyes wide.  He points at the redhead. "Did you hear that, everyone?  Blackmail!"

"Those dishes aren't going to wash themselves," Sarah says as she places her empty coffee mug in the sink.  "Just a reminder."

"Sorry, Ms. Rogers," Clint says cheerfully, before leaving the kitchen and bounding up the stairs.

"Okay," Barnes says once it's just him, Romanoff, and Tony in the kitchen.  Tony notices how Bucky doesn't even look at him once, and the tension in the other teen's neck stands out.  "I guess...you two figure out the washing, and I'll do the drying. Because of the arm."

Tony opens his mouth, and he almost informs Barnes that the arm is not only completely waterproof - maybe Barnes probably hasn't tested that part, even though he knows he left a list of _cans_ and _cannots_ in the box - but that it is definitely tactile enough to wash dishes.  Then, suddenly, he remembers that he isn't supposed to have made it. Bruce's "random friend" has, technically, made it.   _You're so stupid, Tony.  You already slipped once, with Rogers's mom._

They settle into a routine, after that; Tony washes, Natasha rinses, Bucky takes the dripping chinaware from them and places it in the rack after he's scrubbed it all with a thin, raggedy towel.  It's kind of nice, really, and almost therapeutic - the robotic motions, the _shh, shh_ of the sink.  However, when they're about halfway through with the stack of plates, Tony notices Natasha watching him shrewdly out of the corner of her eye, almost like she's trying to dig into his soul.

"Uh," he says coherently before he can fully think through what he's about to say.  "Is there something I'm, um, doing wrong?"

Natasha cocks her head with that same assessing gaze before nodding to his hands.  "What happened, Stark?"

Tony realizes with a sick sort of feeling in his gut that the scratches he'd clawed into his knuckles the night before are reddened and clearly visible under the hot running water.  It looks like he'd punched something, hard, a couple of times using his fists. "Fistfight," he lies smoothly. "The day before break started. You should see the other guy's face though."  He smirks at Barnes, who's stopped drying to stare at Tony, and feels a surge of relief when Barnes's face immediately settles into judgement again.

"Those look fresh," Natasha says.  Her eyes betray nothing; Tony wishes she weren't so damn poker-faced all the time.  This would be a lot easier if he could figure out what the hell her angle is. What is she trying to prove?

"Was picking at the scabs last night," Tony says casually.  He hands off another plate to Barnes, who takes it after a moment.  "That's probably why."

Natasha hums in response.  "So, how come you're staying here?  No vacation plans? Mansion getting remodeled?"

Tony stiffens and trains his eyes onto the motions of his hands running the soap-soaked sponge over the cup in his hand.  Little bits of pulp - the remains of Thor's orange juice, probably - drip from the edge of the cup and into the drain. "I just didn't want to go home, that's all."  He thinks he understands Natasha's angle now. She's trying to make him uncomfortable, as punishment for hurting one of her best friends. Okay, he can handle that. He deserves that.

"How come?" Natasha says calmly.

"Like I've said before," Tony says tightly, over the thick pounding of his heart.  "My family - all of us - we think Christmas is a waste of time. I'd rather stay at SHIELD, and work on projects.  I don't have a lab at home. My parents support my hobbies so they don't mind."

"Isn't it lonely though?  Staying in a dorm all by yourself?"  Natasha hands a stack of three off to Bucky.

"I - I, uh."  There's only one mug left in the sink.  He takes it by the handle and begins to clean it; once they're done, he can leave.  He can leave. "It's not like...this is the first time I'm not coming home. I didn't go to boarding school before."  He doesn't mention that previous Christmases were probably just as lonely as staying on campus would have been: silent, big, empty.

Surprisingly, it's Barnes who cuts Natasha off before she can inquire about anything else.  "Okay, we're done here. Nat...stop. Please. It's kinda tirin'. And we're done with the dishes.  No more of this forced conversation."

Natasha's eyes soften, and she says something in Russian that Barnes accepts with a nod.  Barnes spares Tony a brief glance before hanging the towel from the rack and slipping the last cup into a cupboard.  "Stark. Every year we do this little tradition thing that starts on Thursdays - today - and continues on till Christmas Eve.  Thursdays and Sundays are movie marathon days, and then we make s'mores at night. So 'f you wanna join, we're startin' now."

"It's...kind of you guys' thing, right?" Tony says hesitantly.  "I don't have to join, if you don't want me there."

Barnes grunts, already turning away with Natasha - placid, watchful Natasha - at his side.  "We really don't care. Join us, or don't join us. Do what you want, Stark."

 

Tony comes.  Everyone's in the living room, snuggled up in blankets and pillows already on the rug floor in front of the couches.  He makes the safest decision and settles down next to Bruce, who seems to distrust and/or dislike him the least. Bruce gives him a tentative smile when Tony sits down next to him and hands him a pillow and a blanket.  "Here," the curly-haired boy whispers. "We typically try to cover eight movies in a day. Honestly, it gets boring after a while, and we all get distracted, but it's still fun. It's nice, to be together, you know?"

 _I wish I knew._ "Yeah," Tony replies quietly instead.  He shoves up against the far end of the couch and places the pillow between his legs before wrapping the blanket around him.

"It's my pick for today!" Clint crows gleefully, waving a disc around.  "Harry Potter!"

"Which one?" Steve says from his place across the room.  He's cuddling into Bucky, and, wow - their relationship is so sickeningly cute and it's so _obvious_ that they're in love that Tony isn't sure whether to puke or envy them.  

"The first one, obviously," Clint says.  "We're marathoning the entire series."

"I've already seen them all twice," Natasha says, unimpressed.  "You always make me watch them, and then you fall asleep halfway through."

"Which is why we're seeing them again today!"  Clint grins, flourishing the disc. "So I can beat my record of halfway and try to get to the fifth.  And besides, you think most of us have seen all of them yet? Bucky never watches movies, and Steve's into old black and white flicks.  Also, Thor is, like, from some small country next to Norway. Does Harry Potter even exist there?"

Thor frowns.  "Yes, of course, Clinton," he booms.  "But not by the same name, no, and we acquire the movies by something called 'piracy'."

"Wow.  Okay, yeah, you gotta see it on the big screen, _legally,_ " Clint says, tapping the side of his head knowingly.  "Trust me, man." The archer inserts the disc and then flops down onto the pile of his blankets he's already got cushioning Natasha, with a space next to her for himself.  "Alright, Steve-o, press play. I've only got four hours to introduce you to the wonders of Harry Potter before you all get bored and drift off on me."

Tony eventually falls asleep during the third movie - Prisoner of Azkaban - and is only startled awake several minutes later when he hears Clint scream, "YES!  YES! GET HIM, HERMIONE!"

Under the sound of Clint's hollering, he feels brave enough to tap Bruce on the shoulder and whisper, "What's going on?"

The other boy turns to look at him.  "Clint hates Draco Malfoy," Bruce whispers back, motioning to the tv screen.  "And Hermione just slugged him in the face, I think."

Tony glances over to see Draco stumbling back, moaning and gripping his nose.  He's surprised to feel a wave of pity for a moment, even though Draco honestly needs to learn some fighting skills or at least a lesson in how to not act like you're dying when that is in fact not the case.  Maybe it's because Tony himself has watched all eight Harry Potter movies and therefore is familiar with Draco's parents and the apparent chilliness with which Lucius regards his son, but he will admit that Draco is one of his favorite characters.  Perhaps the Slytherin is not the strongest, or bravest, and he's definitely not the kindest, but no one ever made it a rule that you had to like someone for their good qualities anyway.

"Why do you hate Malfoy so much?" Bruce asks, interested.  

"Um, because he's a total douche, duh," Clint says.  "Yeah, okay, so he has some issues with his crazy evil-ass family or whatever, but that doesn't excuse him from _not_ acting like a normal fucking human being and turning to Voldemort's side and trying to kill great important essential people.  Wait, spoilers."

The thing is, what Clint's saying makes sense.  Draco's upbringing, while giving him a reason to act the way he is - basically a bully and a dick - in no way excuses him.  And Tony can see why Clint hates the character, really. But Draco is also very human, and reminds Tony in a way of how humans make mistakes and become terrible and it's hard to redeem yourself once you've passed a certain point of return.  Kind of like Snape, actually. Pepper and Rhodey both hate Snape and claim that just because Severus was revealed to be a person with decent morals at the end doesn't make him a better person for having bullied Harry throughout his entire education at Hogwarts.  And, okay, Tony can see that too. But there's just something about seeing the darkest parts of yourself coming onscreen, and realizing those painful parts are just as much a part of your humanity.

"What do you think, Tony?" Bruce asks him, eyes hesitant but warm and curious all the same.

"I like Draco," Tony mumbles to his lap, only he responds just as there's a lull in Clint's rant, and only then does he realize Barton has stopped completely and is saying incredulously, "What?"

"Sorry," Tony blurts automatically, avoiding everyone's gazes. 

"No, say it again.  What did you say," Barton says, staring at him.

"I just - uh - I mean, I get what you're saying.  It's just - um, I think even though Draco's a really flawed character, he's...I like him.  Not necessarily for who he is, but his realness."

"I think we should get back to the movie," Steve begins, but Clint just waves a hand to shush him.

"No, no, I want to hear what _Stark_ has to say."  Clint looks at Tony, a challenge sparking in his eyes.

Tony swallows.  "No, I'm not trying to...it's just that...Draco is a very flawed character, we all know that, right?  But that's why I like him - for his flaws. I mean, I like Harry and Ron and Hermione too, but all his life Draco has struggled with what seems to be a cold childhood.  And his parents love him in their own ways, and are protective of him in their own ways, but he's grown up with these certain ideals. Kind of like a child growing up with homophobic parents.  Some of that's gotta rub off, right? And even if he wants to change the course of his life, later on, he's already established his place in Slytherin and he's _got_ a reputation and now it's all too late.  He feels like he doesn't have any control over his life - like in that scene with Dumbledore in the last movie.  He feels like he _has_ to be a bad person, because there's no other direction he could possibly take.  And in some ways it's insecurity and self-hatred that drives him to hate Harry, too, because Harry embodies everything he's not, and he's constantly comparing his self-worth to Harry and wondering why he's not good enough, and trying to prove himself through all the wrong ways.  It doesn't excuse him for his shitty behavior, obviously, and he really was never redeemed - that's real life, I guess. Not all villains are one hundred percent horrible and not all villains _will_ be redeemable.  But I like Draco because I think you can like characters for their humanity and not exactly for who they are as people."

There's utter and complete silence.  Everyone's staring at him, and only now does Tony realize he's out of breath.  He grips the blanket in his lap to calm his nerves, dreading what's going to come next.

"He was a coward," Barton says decisively.  "I don't like cowards."

"Actually…," Barnes begins after a long, long pause, hesitantly, and Tony's head snaps to look at him.  "I can kinda see what Stark means. About Draco. Even if the guy needs to grow a backbone."

Barton turns to the other teen, groaning.  "Seriously?" he says, loudly. "You're siding with _Stark?"_

"I'm not sidin' with him," Barnes says, patiently.  "It's just, I could see myself liking Draco eventually too.  Feel like Potter's gotta get taken down a few notches."

"You _did not just say - "_ Barton's face is almost white with horror and despair.

"Hell, I was joking."  Barnes snorts.  "Harry's just fine, even though I kinda spaced out during the second movie.  But yeah, I guess I could see myself at least understandin' Draco."

Clint humphs, but waves a hand at Steve to unpause the movie.  "Fine, fine," he says flippantly, tucking back in next to Natasha and settling into the blankets again. "We'll see how you feel about him in a few movies though, man.  You haven't seen much of Malfoy yet."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ILL - I Love Loki  
> -  
> there will be some good angst next chapter, & the tides will finally start to turn (aka the so-far-constant bullying of one a. e. stark)  
> -  
> little nervous though tbh because i have NO idea how to turn stories around without making it seem too sudden/tacky. well to be fair i've never tried. but also i have no idea what i'm doing ever  
> *see if you can guess what happens! --> they make and eat s'mores because tradition*  
> -  
> (p.s. i'm posting this in apush class because that's what you do when you're discussing the constitution)


	14. i only wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> :) big fan of smiley faces :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me what you think...also t b h should not be updating so early (only 4 days! + ESPECIALLY because i no longer have pre-written chaps) but whatever, i'll just make yall wait for the next 1

 

 

"i didn't want any flowers, i only wanted

to lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.

how free it is, you have no idea how free."

\- sylvia plath,  _ariel_

  
  


**14.**

  
  


Outside, they've cleared all the snow off the brick fire pit and brought out marshmallows, graham crackers, and Hershey's chocolate bars.  Steve, being ever so pragmatic, makes sure to bring two brand-new tissue boxes as a precaution for their sticky fingers and mouths. There'd been some earlier worries about keeping the fire going, but luckily, the snow had cooled off a bit since this morning.

Clint whoops with eagerness, stooping to light the fire, while Thor swings his stick around and gaily impales the air.  "Tradition," Bruce tells Tony softly as he watches Thor, and Tony can see the fondness, the lightness, in his eyes. He's glad that his science partner is so happy, because honestly Bruce is kind of scrawny and twitchy and probably needs more love in his life.

"Here," Romanoff says, handing a stick and a marshmallow to Bruce, and then to Tony.  "Knock yourselves out."

"Thanks," Tony mumbles, and takes  both items awkwardly. He's grateful that they've decided to include him, but it still doesn't help the overwhelming fact that he is one hundred percent not their friends.  He isn't even sure whether he actually likes them, or if he just likes their dynamic and comfortable familiarity and the easy and kind way they treat and protect one another.  

"You've made s'mores before, right Tony?" Bruce says, the firelight glinting off his frames.  They clear snow off one of the logs nearby and place sheets over it before they sit down. 

Tony swallows.  "No," he says eventually, and looks hard at his marshmallow so he won't have to see the judgement and surprise.  "No, I haven't."

"Really?  Oh, I assumed - "

"Yeah, I know.  It's fine. It's just one of those essential childhood experiences I never got around to, I guess."  It comes out more bitter than intended.

Something flickers in Bruce's expression, the way he looks when there's a difficult physics problem he hasn't quite got yet, and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with an index finger.  "Ah." 

They turn back to the fire, more silent now, and stick their marshmallows into the flames.

"So," Bruce says after a while, once everyone's settled down and is chatting with each other.  "Some people like to burn their marshmallows, where they basically set their marshmallows on fire and wait a bit before blowing it out.  That's mostly Clint and Bucky, though. I like to keep it above the fire for awhile until it turns more of a golden color."

Tony smiles a little.  "I know how to make s'mores, I've just never done it before."

Bruce flushes.  "Ah," he repeats.  

Tony leans forward to get better access to the heat, but makes sure not to set his marshmallow on fire.  The very thought makes him a little ill - like the fire could spread down the candy and onto the stick, and lick all the way up his fingers and wrists and elbows and - 

_ Nope.  Nopety nope.  Not going there. _

"Is it nice, living in Malibu?" Bruce says, a touch of wistfulness to his voice.  "What's it like, not having snow?"

"It's, it's okay."  Tony shrugs his shoulders and straightens up when he realizes he's hunching in on himself.  "It's fine, I guess." 

"Seems nice, it being warm all the time," Bruce comments.  "New York has nice summers, but I get cold easily."

Tony nods.  He isn't sure where this conversation is heading, and painfully he recognizes that it's only Bruce trying to set up some small talk.

"I've never asked you this before," Bruce says suddenly, and he looks shy in the firelight.  "What's it like, getting to travel to so many places? I've never been out of the country before.  It seems nice, you know, just flying all over the world to see things. I would, but I just don't have...well, the means."

Tony's thinking about how to answer this when Barnes, on the log beside him, reaches forward with his stick.  The marshmallow stuck to the tip immediately catches fire as Barnes dips it far into the pit, and he's bringing his hand back up to blow it out when Barton - from across the fire - says, "Hey, Barnes, watch this."

Tony turns to look at Barton, who's juggling marshmallows in the air, and Barnes turns too - which means that his stick swings to the side, right in front of Tony.  Well, in actuality, the flaming marshmallow is at least a foot away from his chest. But in the moment, that's not what it looks like. 

Immediately Tony drops his stick and scrambles backward off the log, his breath coming in short sharp gasps.  All he can see is the fire, feel the fire on his skin, men moving around him hands on him searing pain licking up his chest.  Vaguely, he's aware that everyone is staring at him, that Bruce is looking at him and asking concernedly, "Tony? What's going on?" but he can't think, he can't, he can't, he's thirteen years old and back in a stupid fucking abandoned building getting held for ransom by some dumbass group with a stupid name that doesn't understand his father _won't pay, will never pay, not for worthless fuckups like him -_

_ You will pay for your father's refusal. _

A beat.

_ I will enjoy watching you scream. _

A beat.

_ Ah, Anthony Stark.  Family can be a terrible thing. _

A beat...

Fuck, fuck, he can't, he can't breathe, he can't do this.  He's not, he's in the snow, he's , he's, where am I, where is he -

He's burning up again

Raza's holding the lighter to his chest again

He's 

H e     ' s

s  c r ea m i ng 

cr y i n g

be g g i ng

p l e a d i n g  just like a l i ttle g ir l

_ No, not again, please, p-please I - he'll pay, just give him time _

_ Hands, scrabbling at his scalp, forcing his head underwater.  "Do it again," a voice commands, and Tony almost blacks out from lack of air.  The sensation of drowning is all around him, filling his throat, filming his eyes, clogging his ears.  "Do it again."  _

_ I'm Anthony Stark, age thirteen, Italian, can I go home, I'm going home, I'm going to be home, I'm Anthony Stark, age thirteen, Italian, I'm going home, I'm going home, I'm going home _

 

_ Fire _

 

_ Fire  _

 

_ Fire _

 

_ Fire and _

_ the breath getting torn out of him, his chest bleeding back into his ribs _

_ The hard seat cramping his ass, the restraints around his wrists, the metallic, sweat-odored tinge to the air _

_ Raza's clothes, black shirt and black jacket and jeans, too casual, so casual _

_ A pain so fucking  _ awful _ he doesn't even have enough soul left to scream - _

Tony comes dimly out of his panic and realizes he's curled up next to the log, shoulders heaving.  His face feels wet; he touches his cheeks and figures he's probably crying. His heart is shuddering in his chest, and he's still half-stuck in an endless loop of remembering.  He hasn't had a PTSD flashback like this in awhile, and he thought - he thought he was finally over it. Obviously not though. _So weak, Tony. Why are you so weak?_

He realizes that he's lying in the snow, and something's on his shoulder.  The snow feels so blessedly cool, and he sob-sighs and turns his face into the ground, breathing in the chill.  It's snow, that's it, not the Ten Rings, not fire, not heat. His body feels like it's dissipating into the earth, weak and trembling and hot-cold, and the insides of his eyelids are blue-black and starry and he can almost see the heavens in them.  

He can almost see God waiting, watching impassively, in them.  

"Tony?" a voice says, soft.

Tony jerks and realizes the pressure on his shoulder is a hand, which is connected to Bruce, and...everyone is surrounding him.  In various degrees of concern, and all looking very confused. 

_ Shit. _

Tony scrambles up immediately, pressing his back up against the log.  "Oh, God," he says, and his voice sounds thin and breakable, even to his own ears.  "I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry, I…" His hands aren't working right in his lap; they're twitching and fluttering, like moths, and they aren't listening to his commands to still them.  

"What was that?" Steve says, but he sounds almost _kind_ now, and  _fuck,_ Tony doesn't want pity.  Especially not from these people, who have already been so fucking generous with him. 

"I - I don't…."  Tony trails off. Everyone looks like cardboard cutouts in the night, like the darkness is seeping around the edges of them all and they're not really _there_ , just hallucinations.  Honestly, Tony really isn't sure if he _is_ just dreaming up all of this or not. Everything feels unsteady and loose and heady, like a dream, except his heart is having arrhythmia again and it's a painful pounding throb and he knows somewhere deep inside that it's real.  It's hard to focus on everything, and it feels so truly like he is going to die. Like his chest is going to crack through, brittle like eggshells, crumbling hard bits into his heart and sucking the oxygen from his lungs and hurting, hurting, _hurting..._

"Too severe to be a panic attack," Natasha says lowly, looking at him.  Her expression is once again indecipherable, but Tony doesn't pretend to think that momentary flicker of sympathy is genuine.  "And he's definitely not faking it. Post traumatic stress disorder, probably."

"Stark," Rogers says, like he doesn't even want to think about it, like he still half doesn't believe what he's about to ask.  "Do you...do you have PTSD?" He reaches forward, maybe to touch Tony's other shoulder.

It's probably because of how high strung he is, but in that moment Tony does the stupidest thing possible - he flinches.  

"Hey," Bruce murmurs tentatively as Steve draws back, looking agitated.  He kneels down slowly next to Tony. "We can go inside, okay?"

"Didn't know a pretty rich boy like Stark could have PTSD," Barton snarks, but this time the jab is lackluster and even Barnes looks warningly at him to shut up.

"What triggered it?" Bruce is saying, softly.  "Can you tell us? Is that okay?"

Tony wraps his arms around himself and shakes his head tightly.  He just wants to crawl into his bed at SHIELD and go to sleep and forget everything that's happened tonight.  He'd be surprised if the Rogers didn't just kick him out, after this, for causing so much drama and trouble. "I'm sorry," he whispers.  He can't even muster up the strength to put on a facade of being okay right now; all he can manage to do is apologize. "I thought...I thought I was okay.  I mean, I am okay. It won't happen again. I'm sorry. I promise."

"It's okay," Bruce says, still kneeling.  "I think we're done here with making s'mores.  You guys want to go in and finish up Harry Potter?  We've still got the last movie to go."

"Sounds like a good idea," Rogers says after a pause.  His brows are furrowed and his mouth contorted, like he isn't exactly sure how to comfort a guy he hates that just broke down in front of him.  "Come on, everyone."

"I can stay outside with Tony for a bit," Bruce offers.  He glances down at Tony, who's clenching his jaw but not indicating any displeasure at the proposal.  Tony notices that Thor is watching him with a look that seems far too intimate and sorrowful for the stranger-relationship they have, and shudders a little.

"Okay," Rogers says firmly.  "We'll all go inside. Bruce, you can come in with Stark when he's feeling better."

Everyone hesitates a little, glancing at Tony once more before leaving.  Romanoff's expression, while still placid, is no longer stony. Barton just looks uncomfortable and confused as fuck.  Steve kind of looks like a very shocked and lost puppy, and Thor's eyes are old and sad. Barnes, however, Barnes is the real surprise.  He looks...guilty, and regretful, almost, even though Tony has no idea why Barnes might feel that way. He could be reading the other boy's emotions completely wrong, of course.  Hell, Barnes might even be feeling extremely satisfied right now and Tony wouldn't know for sure. 

"Tony," Bruce says softly, and Tony realizes his science buddy is still next to him in the snow.  The snow's still falling lightly, and white powder peppers Bruce's curly, unruly locks. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Tony says stiffly, looking away.  "Bruce, I don't want your pity. You don't have to give it.  I understand." He's still struggling to catch his breath. 

"It's not _pity_ ," Bruce says, more fiercely than Tony would expect.  "Tony, you just had a - what was it, a PTSD flashback? Triggered by Clint, or _something._  This is serious."

"I've had PTSD since I was thirteen," Tony snaps back, equally fierce now.  "Don't decide to care just because you saw me break down like a little girl."

Bruce's eyes soften.  "There's nothing wrong with letting your emotions out, you know."

"I didn't say there was."  Tony digs his fingers into the snow, relishes in the cold burn.

"We all have issues," Bruce says, settling down on his butt next to Tony and resting his back against the log.  "Me, Nat, Clint, Bucky, everyone. More than most, honestly. We might not have experienced the same thing as you, but we've been through a lot."

_My parents got shot in the middle of December, and then a month later I got into a car accident,_ Tony thinks.  A metal arm, painted with a red star, flashes in his mind.

He shrugs.  "I don't have anything to complain about.  I'm Tony Stark. Rich, genius, famous, popular, and occasional slut, remember?"  He almost adds _"okay"_ to the list of descriptors, but then remembers the dried tears on his cheeks and figures he's already shown he's weak and there's no point in trying to prove otherwise.

"Tony."  Bruce sighs.  "We've kind of been assholes."

"I deserved it," Tony says softly.  The stars twinkle in front of him and imprint themselves on the insides of his eyelids.

"What you did was wrong, but what Bucky did was wrong too," Bruce says after a moment, and wipes the lens of his glasses on his shirt.  "He shouldn't have called your friend a slut."

"Yeah, he shouldn't have," Tony agrees, startling an uncertain laugh out of his science partner.  "But I don't belong here, Bruce. You know that. I should start booking flights soon. All the random blizzards that have been happening will die down in a day or two."

"Maybe you aren't friends with most of us," Bruce begins, and Tony is grateful for the _"most",_ that Bruce seems to consider him a friend (even if only out of pity).  "But I think we should all start over. I can talk to everyone else. Get them to forgive you. You should stay here."

"Forgive me?"  Tony laughs bitterly.  "That'll never happen. And if they do, it's only going to be because they pity me, and nothing else.  I don't want that. I'd rather have you all back to hating me again." The stars look softer now that it's nearing nine pm, like drops of melting ice cream.  It is so beautiful, and it is almost enough to ease the ache drenching his insides.

"We don't hate - it's not pity."  Bruce closes his eyes briefly before glancing up at Tony; his face is sad.  "I think we all just forgot that you aren't the cause of all our problems. We took you as the mascot for all our pain because of Bucky's arm and ran with it.  That part is our fault, not yours."

Tony shakes his head.  "If it wasn't pity, you wouldn't have chosen to forgive me now, after you - after you saw me break down."  In the corner of his eye the stars are melting down the sky, they're falling and falling, and Tony wants to help them back into their places high above the heads of the trees and earth, but he doesn't know what to do.  So instead, he watches them fall, so delicate and graceful even in the arch of their descent.

_"Tony,"_ Bruce says, and it's so evident in his voice that he doesn't know what to do.  "You need help. We're here for you. You don't have to do this alone, if you're having problems, you know that, right?"

"Bullshit," Tony says softly, and stands up to brush the snow off his pants.  "You guys don't care; it's my fault. I don't...I don't need to be taken care of."

"Tony," Bruce says again.  He seems at a loss for words, and it gives Tony some sick sort of satisfaction, to see his science seatmate rendered speechless.

"Stark men are made of iron," Tony says, tired now.  The snow looks brittle, thousands and thousands and thousands of flurries grouped together, indistinct, all the same.  He envies that sameness, in a way - borne from the sky, landing on earth the same as all the others before and after it.  Snow cones. Sledding. Double diamonds. Winter. That's what snow was supposed to be, that was what it was supposed to represent.

Maybe it's him, but he thinks it's started to snow harder.

"I'm sorry," Bruce says, quiet, and Tony wonders if the other boy knows what he's apologizing for.

"Don't be."  Tony quirks a humorless smile and sticks his hands in his pockets.  "I'm always okay. Always."

He waits a beat.  There's just the whistling wind and the silence; Bruce doesn't seem to be able to say anything else.  "Good night, Brucie." He turns, after one long pause filled with his name and a "wait" stuttered from the other boy's mouth, and he walks across the yard and goes into the house.  He makes his way all the way upstairs, passing the living room where everyone seems to be talking quietly in front of the tv, and heads straight into the bedroom.

He's so very tired, when he crawls under his blanket.

Thinks, for some time, about the shuddering humiliation, and it hurts a little when he realizes there are no footsteps, that Bruce hasn't followed him.

It's only when it gets hard to breathe that he realizes he's crying (hard) again, and when he finally sleeps - struggling through the thickness in his airway - snow and fire blend into one, choking him in his dreams.  

|

_ I'm Anthony Stark, I'm age sixteen, please, I want to find home. _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to make you wait for the next chapter hehe (because i posted this one so fast)  
> -  
> guys i have 3 (painful!) fics to recommend you. now, being an avid ao3 reader, i have read many, many, many amazing and beautiful fics (and you can contact me if you want recs for those because i kind of spend all my waking life reading). but like - if you want to read a fic that makes you start crying in your chest and your hands shake and you gasp for air, read these. like, on one of them, i actually started shaking. i couldn't. i was trembling and dissolving into myself. the most haunting ass fic ever.
> 
> 1) the road through october country. indigostohelit. shook my heart and made me tear up. SO well-written.  
> 2) beyond the walls of sleep. chaed, spacelaska. ok holy crap, don't read this fic unless you have like, 20 straight hours. this is singlehandedly the most heart-shaking, world-rocking fic ever. this freaked me out. so bad. i like. i. i. i couldn't even walk properly after i read this. it was so good but like makes you want to die in the worst ways possible simultaneously. it is NOT happy. it is brutal. it tears you tf apart.  
> 3) sucker punch. sineala. yall jesus christ the ending was SUCH a sucker punch. one of the best fic endings ever. it's more of comic universe (fair warning to those of you who are mostly only mcu fans), but it's still so good. i kept re-reading the ending the first time i clicked on this fic. just...wow. i aspire to be the kind of author who can wreck people (lmao)


	15. i talk to god but the sky is empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the new atmosphere is tense and uncomfortable. tony takes a shower and bucky needs to pay more attention to his surroundings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i died and it took a really long time to come back to earth & i'm not confident about this chapter either -  
> oh hell no  
> oH mygOd staN LEE just dIED what Th e fUFSLC  
> oh my god  
> a legend just -  
> oh my god  
> shoot  
> this is really sad  
> tbh, for a marvel fan i don't really know that much about stan lee, but still. wow. he created my life sorta

 

 

_i talk to god but the sky is empty_

_-_ sylvia plath

 

**15.**

 

Bucky only looks up when Bruce comes into the room, tired and haggard.

"How is he," he hears Steve ask lowly, and he almost dreads the answer.

"I think he's in bed now," Bruce says quietly.  He sighs, running a hand through his brunette curls before stuffing them in his pockets like he doesn't know where to put them.  "This is bad."

"Yeah, no kidding," Barton says, a deep frown on his face.  "I mean, really, Stark having a PTSD-induced flashback? I wouldn't have expected that in a million years."

"What are we supposed to do?" Steve says.  His blue eyes are so troubled, so ashamed.

"Well, for one, we can't treat him any different," Bruce starts.  Steve immediately recoils. _"No,"_ Bruce interrupts, holding a hand up.  "Not finished yet. I didn't mean keep being angry with him.  I meant, don't treat him like he's fragile now that we've accidentally triggered a really personal thing that we were never supposed to see.  Tony already thinks we hate him - which, honestly, we act like we do, and I don't doubt some of us _do -_ and he's just going to think we pity him if we suddenly become all buddy-buddy."

"Well...how do we tell him…"   Steve trails off. "How do we tell him we don't hate him?"

"We don't, 'cause that'd be bullshit," Bucky says, startling everyone except for Natasha.  "We do hate him. Let's face it." He knows it's irrational, but he's a little pissed at Stark right now.  Now he can't even hate Stark without feeling sort of uncomfortable about it - at least, after seeing that raw and personal moment out in the snow - and it was way fuckin' easier when it was just him, and his anger.

Steve's face can't get any sadder in this moment, and Bucky curses the fact that his best friend can pull off such anguished puppy dog expressions.  "Well, he _is_ a jerk, Buck...but gosh, he had a flashback that might have been caused by one of us!"

Bucky sees it immediately - Steve _hates_ feeling guilty above all else, and the blonde is sure as hell feeling guilty now.  It doesn't even matter how much his best friend dislikes Stark - guilt is Steve's weakness, and everyone here knows it.

"Okay," Bruce says, scrubbing a hand over his face.  He looks worn out by the entire ordeal. "We go on, and we treat Tony like we would normally treat any other person we don't really know all that well.  But no more slandering, or calling him out, or attacking him, alright? That includes you, Clint."

Clint rolls his eyes.

"Friends," Thor says in a voice that manages to be both quiet and authoritative at the same time.  "It is with regret that I attempt to cut this conversation short, but we should retire to bed. It is late."  It doesn't escape Bucky's notice that the guy looks awfully subdued, and something wrenching and old has darkened his expression.

"Thor's right," Natasha says.  She is harder to read than usual.  "Let's go to bed, and we can deal with this in the morning."

Led by Natasha, everyone trickles out to head to the bedroom, but Steve hangs back for a second, holding gently onto the hem of Bucky's shirt to get him to stay.

"What's up, Stevie?"

Steve just blows out a breath, looking awfully conflicted.  It's a strange look on someone who almost always knows exactly where he stands.  "You're okay with this, right, Buck? I can talk to the others if you're not. Especially after what Stark did to you, and you didn't really look a hundred percent on board with this…  I mean, who even knows what Stark went through. He might be overreacting, or, I don't know, I just...I know it sounds bad, but I care about you and I don't want some rich prick from Malibu hurting you because we've decided to forgive him."  The blonde looks so earnest, so fierce, that Bucky can't help but chuckle a little.

"It's fine.  Honestly, Stevie.  And we're just bein' nice to him, it's not that we've forgiven him, so you don't even have to worry about that.  If he's a douche, I'll fight him, sure, but we're just not gonna harass him. I mean, even assholes don't deserve to have to put up with PTSD flashbacks, and I've been thinkin' that we should be bigger people.  Not stoop to that level just 'cause he did somethin' shitty, y'know?" Bucky quirks a tight half-smile, thinking back to his own nightmares and knowing Steve's remembering all the times he had to calm down a screaming, half-delirious Bucky in the middle of the night.  For a second, something nudges at his conscience - something about guilt, something about sitting on a porch step at one am and sad-eyed boys yelling _"Don't - !"_ \- but just as quickly, it disappears.

"Okay.  If you're sure."  Steve still looks a little worried, so Bucky slings his metal arm around his best friend's waist and steers him gently toward the bedroom.  

"I'm sure."

-

The next morning, Tony feels so fucking pathetic that he kind of just wants to walk down the road until he sees a car.  And then jump in front of it.

Because he's, like said before, so fucking pathetic.

By the time he's fully coherent, there are noises coming from downstairs already, indicating the start of breakfast.  For a moment he isn't sure whether to feel hurt or not that nobody woke him up, but then decides it's better if they don't feel like they need to take care of him.  Or maybe they _do_ pity him and thought he needed more sleep, like some kind of delicate flower.  At this point, it doesn't even matter - the searing humiliation of yesterday sits like a big growth of mold inside of him, numbing him to everything he's feeling and thinking.

As soon as Tony pads downstairs, a hush stretches over the kitchen.  Everyone is here except for Ms. Rogers - Sarah - and he dimly recalls someone mentioning yesterday that she's gone to visit a family friend for the day.  

"Good morning," Steve says cordially.  His smile crooks. "Uh - you have a seat in-between Clint and Bruce, if you want to eat with us."

Tony decidedly does not have a choice, but he mumbles thanks anyway and sits down between the archer and his science buddy.  

"How are you?" Bruce asks softly as soon as the other boy takes a seat next to him.  "Sorry, we would've woken you, but we thought - "

"It's fine."  Tony's voice is raspier than he expected, and he clears his throat, cheeks blushing red.  "I guess I needed the sleep."

Clint finishes doling out eggs on his plate.  It's almost painful, the way he pauses before turning to Tony.  "Do you, uh, want eggs, Stark?" Tony glances Barton's way and realizes the other boy is holding out a bowl full of scrambled eggs and a serving spoon and is waiting, his silence strained but not impatient.

"Thanks," Tony mumbles, and it's so soft that for a second Clint frowns as if he hasn't heard it properly.  

"No problem," Barton says after a second, sounding like he's at least trying to be friendly before turning away to talk to Thor (whose smile keeps twitching every time he looks at Tony).  

Tony knows what happened yesterday is bothering them - fuck, it's bothering _him_ for sure - and he knows, with a sick sort of feeling in his gut, that now he won't even ever know where he stands.  Before it was easy, the disgust and the loathing that told him clearly what Barnes and the others thought of him and his actions.  But now...what if they're nice to him? What if they're nice and Tony gets soft, starts believing they like him and then -

And then -

_Don't be so melodramatic, Stark._

Anyway, Tony thinks as he tries desperately to remove the darker thoughts from his mind, Romanoff is the only one acting remotely fucking normal here.  When he glances up at her, she's watching him with intent, but her face is just as impassive and indifferent as usual. It's a small grace, but in that moment he's surprisingly grateful for how poker-faced she's been toward him.  Sure, maybe it means that she's more unforgiving - more of a realist - but it makes him feel normal. And normal's...good. Helps to ease his fluttering heart back into his chest.

After breakfast, they all decide to go outside and make snow forts, since the blizzard from last night's gone again and it's left tons of fresh new powdery snow.  Barton suggests that they go sledding sometime soon - maybe tomorrow, after the loaders clear out the roads with their snowplows and they can drive down to the nearby hill - but for now, they content themselves with the lush whiteness spread out in front of the house.  

The thing is, Tony actually enjoys this - snow sculpting or whatever - just enjoys using his hands to create in general.  He's honestly a left-brained person, but if he had more of a creative gene, he'd probably be into sculpting. While he can't draw anything that isn't geometrical to save his life and doesn't really know the difference between good and bad art (and isn't that subjective anyway?), he thinks there's something quite beautiful in shaping something until it's just the way you wanted it, molding something by touching it directly, bare skin to creation.

Settling down on his knees in the snow, he begins by carving out a rectangular base with rounded edges, the blueprints for his fort already building in his mind.  On a whim, he adds a landing platform to the blueprint, thinking idly that if his snow building were real, he'd want a place where planes could land and take off - a tower tall enough to let them straight into the clouds like birds.  That's kind of who he is, he supposes - reaching toward the sky, wanting to touch it, always seeking more.

While building, he notices that nobody says anything, even though he can feel the glances ever so often directed his way.  Tony would say it feels nice. But honestly, it's just creepy and reminds him of how he basically has to be a pathetic, pitiful loser in order for people to actually pretend to like him.  He tells himself firmly not to remember _why_ exactly these people are all suddenly acting neutral - if awkward - around him, reminds himself of the burning humiliation of last night whenever he finds himself even remotely caught up in the enjoyment of building his fort.  

 _They're not being nice because they like you,_ he repeats to himself as he finishes molding the body of his tower.  He can feel the eyes watching him as he moves around the ice fort. _They're being nice because you're pathetic as shit, and don't you forget._

"That's really good, Stark," Rogers says from beside him, and Tony has to stifle his flinch before turning around.  "I didn't know you were n artist."

Tony shrugs a shoulder, averting his eyes.  "I'm not. But I'm not half-bad at building things."

The blonde tries to smile at him, but it makes Tony want to cringe - the twitch of Rogers's mouth physically hurts with how much the guy's trying to force it.  "What is it?"

"Tower."  Tony starts sculpting an "S" on the top platform of the tower, just for kicks.  "Modern, though."

"Ah.  That's neat."  

Barnes comes up beside Steve from where he's been sculpting some weird, globby mass that's more deformed snowball than whatever he's probably trying to do.  Immediately, Rogers's face brightens a little in relief as Barnes slings his arm around his friend, drawling with a slight Brooklyn accent: "Not bad, Stark. Could give Stevie here a run for his money."

Steve frowns, bats him away.  "Aw, shut up, Buck."

Tony watches their little tussle with more interest than he'd ever admit to.  Barnes's fingers are pressing into Rogers's shoulder, the blonde's got one hand firmly on the brunette's chest and the other scrambling for purchase on Barnes's arm.  He doesn't realize how much he craves that kind of non-sexual, familiar touch until he's watching them with this knot of something akin to envy and longing curdling in his gut.  Did his father ever touch him like that when he was a kid and too young to remember? he wonders. Did his mother ever do anything more than hug him - maybe cuddle him, give him butterfly pecks or Eskimo kisses and neck massages.  Did she? Did _he?_

He remembers reading once in biology, back in ninth grade, that animals that went too long without touch grew up all weird and wonky.  That they weren't normal and had some kind of mental issue. That animals, in general, need some sort of contact to stay sane and grounded.  He's not too weird though - he doesn't think, at least - even if he's got a multitude of other issues that could probably be chalked up to getting kidnapped and brutalized instead of a little lost love anyway.  So Howard must have hugged him at least once, right? Had patted a younger Tony on the head, maybe, or touched him on the shoulder? Pinched his cheek? Something, anything?

He's so focused on looking for any wisp of memory that might have indicated Howard had once comforted him, even briefly, that he doesn't notice that Barnes and Rogers have stopped smacking and pulling on each other and are looking at him.  Barnes clears his throat, roughly. "You here with us, Stark?"

"Y-yeah.  Sorry. Spaced out."  It feels hot and stiff under Tony's jacket, and he tugs down on his collar to let in the air, accidentally elbowing his tower in the process.  The "S" smears under his jacket sleeve.

There's an awkward silence for a second, but thankfully Tony is saved from having to suffer any more of this weird, tense friendliness when a snowball pegs Barnes in the back of his head.  Barnes lurches forward, and he's already scooping up a ball of snow with his metal hand and turning before Tony even has enough time to register what Barton's just done.

"I've got a metal arm, asshole," Barnes shouts, flinging snow back in Barton's direction.  "You may have the best aim out of all of us, but I bet I can throw harder than you now."

From beside him, Steve's molding snow into balls too and throwing them back.  Somehow it's evolved into teams within the span of a few seconds, Natasha, Clint, Thor, and Bruce hurling snow from behind the safety of their forts at Steve and Bucky, who are hollering as they're continually pelted by a storm of white even from behind Steve's weird blocky thing and Bucky's dementedly large snowball.

"Stark!" Barnes sputters, and he's laughing hard, probably not even thinking about who he's inviting to join him.  "Shit - help us!"

Tony flutters closer.  "Uh - do you want me to - " he starts, already taking off a chunk from the ground and molding it between his hands.

"Just help us," Rogers groans, not even seeming to care anymore that it's a _Stark_ he's begging.  "Four against two isn't fair, you guys!"

"Like Bucky said," Clint hollers back, "he's got a metal arm!  Based on that logic, that's two people alone!"

Crouching behind the fort, Tony pops up quickly and flings hard, nailing Barton straight in the face.  For a second, the other boy goes down gasping, and Tony feels a bolt of panic shoot through him - Barton's going to get pissed, he will, he's going to get kicked out and he's going to have to find a hotel and flight that aren't booked up somehow - but then Clint's coming back up with solid shock on his face.  "Stark's got an arm," he says, eyes wide. "That felt like a missile blast."

Barnes whistles, and it's probably just because they're all caught up in this carefully balanced moment, but for a second he grins wide and open at Tony and all Tony can think is, _uh, wow._ It's one of those smiles where you're having fun and you just so happen to turn in the direction of a stranger while you're still smiling about it, but still - it's aimed at him.  It almost feels like he could belong.

For the next twenty minutes, it's just a storm of volleying back and forth like a normal snowball fight, except for some reason everyone's got scarily accurate aim, even Tony.  Finally, Clint shouts defeat first and collapses behind the weird ship blob - already practically demolished by Steve's throws - that Natasha and he had been constructing. Rogers laughs, and somehow his laugh sounds big and blonde even though Tony is aware that those aren't even proper descriptors.  Rogers is hanging all over Bucky even before Clint's finished his sentence, the two slumping down to the ground in the snow with their limbs tangled up.

Tony turns away to give them privacy.  They're obviously juiced up on adrenaline, and it seems clear to him at least that Rogers wants to have a big mack-out with Barnes right here and now.  Far be it from him to prevent two guys from some more intimate celebration, because Tony might be a douche but it would be kind of ironic if he were homophobic.  

"Stark," Barnes says with some difficulty a while later, and Tony glances back and blesses his small mercies that he's not seeing anything out-of-the-ordinary.  "You _are_ feelin' okay, right?  Right now?" It's intensely awkward as all three of them know exactly why Barnes is asking.  Know exactly _what_ Barnes is asking.  

"Can we - not," Tony says haltingly.  "I mean, I'm fine. I kind of...can we forget about yesterday?  It won't happen again."

Jesus, if even the guy whose arm he broke is starting to care… No.  Tony needs to be better. He let them see weakness once; they can't see it again.

"Sure," Barnes agrees readily.  It doesn't escape Tony's notice that Barnes's hand tightens on Rogers's kneecap as he speaks.

"I'm tired," Barton is moaning near them, clearly audible even under the increasingly whistly wind.  "Can we go inside now? It's cold."

"You whine too much," Natasha says, except she says it fondly and in French.  It just so happens to be one of the languages that Tony can speak fluently - he'd picked it up during his two-month stay in France when he was eleven.

"Okay," Rogers says, taking the helm as usual.  "We can go inside and set up the fireplace or something.  It _is_ actually starting to snow harder now; we might have another heavy blizzard hit soon.  Clint's right - we should go inside."

"Right about what?  All he did was complain like a little girl."

"Aw, shut up, Barnes."

Once inside, they settle down and Barton lights up the fireplace.  Tony thinks that he really should, by all means, _not_ be panicking so much at the mere sight of the flames, but he is.  They're in the loft again and gathered around the heat, trying to dry their damp clothing.  Thor's basically stripped down to his boxers, looking like he could start sweating at any moment, and Barton's already shirtless, snow jacket and long sleeved shirt slung out in front of the fire.  His science buddy, on the other hand, is huddling as close as he can to the warmth.

Tony, on the other hand, is crouched as far away as possible without evoking any sort of suspicion in everyone else.  The fire is mesmerizing, fierce and vibrant; it flickers and weaves and twists like the reflection of water that is cast when sunlight filters through a water bottle.  

"Aren't you cold?" Barton says to him, glancing over at where he's sitting - clothes still damp - next to a cushy-looking chair.  

"You're shirtless," Natasha points out, but Barton shrugs.

"Yeah, but Stark's all the way over there.  I'm so close to the fire I could literally start burning."

This prompts a full-body shudder to run through Tony unbidden.  The very image of someone burning up is enough to make him want to gag - the smell of burning flesh is something he never, _ever_ wants to have to endure again, thank you very much.

"Come closer," Thor says from his spot ten feet away, skin around his blue eyes crinkled up.  "You have nothing to fear, and offense is not intended, but you look pale and chilled, Stark."

"Uh - no thanks, I'm good," Tony stammers out.  "I'm really not that cold, I just…I mean, the heat's on, so..."  

"At least take off your shirt, like me," Barton says flippantly, motioning to his body.  He is toned and tan in the warm firelight. "It's not healthy to have wet clothes clinging to you."

 _"No,"_ Tony says, more sharply than intended.  He shrinks back. "Sorry, I'm just, um, I don't want to, uh…"

"Just...what?" Clint says, and a corner of his mouth quirks up.  It's hard to tell whether he's being serious or not. "A prude?"

"Alright, okay, lay off a little," Rogers intervenes, but the look he gives Clint is one tinged more with fond exasperation than actual sternness.  "But really, Stark, you're going to get a cold over there."

Natasha, who's been silent all this time, tilts her head assessingly.  Her gaze feels heavy, like it's pinning Tony down even from all the way across the room.  "Is it the fire?" she asks, mildly. "Is that why?"

Cold everywhere.  Cold prickling down to his bones.  "What?" Tony rasps.

"Is it the fire," Natasha repeats, her words accompanied by a gesture this time.  

There's a silence as everyone processes her question and - like a pin dropping - realizes why she's asking it, all at the same time.  

"Stark," Barnes begins, like he doesn't quite know what to say but wants to say something anyway.  

Barton's frowning at him with a really weird expression on his face, like Tony's an annoying puzzle or something.

Bruce has stilled and is watching him carefully.

Tony clears his throat.  He doesn't know how to say yes, doesn't know how to say yes without the words coming out all stilted and foreign.  There are six gazes weighing down on him, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to…

"Guys," Bruce says tentatively, "I think if Tony doesn't want to talk about it, he shouldn't have to."

Tony lets out a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding.  "I-I don't," he says. His mouth is dry. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, then you don't have to," Rogers says gently.  "We won't push." That last comment is directed at Natasha, who looks unashamed but also a little ambivalent.

"I just don't like fire."  The words come out before Tony can even tell himself not to say them.  He makes eye contact with Barnes for a brief moment, whose startlingly grey-blue eyes have snapped up to look at him.  "Or heat. It's not a big deal, just one of those childhood experiences or whatever. For the record, I don't like rats either.  Or mice."

"Nobody likes rats," Barnes grunts bemusedly, startling Tony again.

"At least now we know you can't be an arsonist," Barton says.

Even though Rogers turns to give Clint a disapproving stare, Tony's secretly grateful for the jibe.  He much prefers humor over seriousness; maybe it's a side effect from being horrible at dealing with feelings.

"Apologies, Stark, but I think I speak honestly when I say it would not be in your favor if you caught a cold," Thor says.  He really _does_ sound apologetic, but doesn't push it.  "If you would rather not strip, perhaps a hot shower would do you well."

"Yeah, actually, we should all take a shower," Bruce says, pushing his glasses up his nose.  "That's a good idea, Tony."

"Uh - okay," Tony says, still feeling a little wobbly as he stands.  "Should I - I mean, do you guys want to take one first?"

"It's fine," Rogers interrupts before anyone else can.  "Go ahead. We can wait. Also, you probably already discovered this when you came here, but the lock's broken.  So just let us know when you're done."

Stumbling over his thanks, Tony disappears from the loft before anyone else can say anything.  He grabs his clothes from the bedroom and flees to the shower, breathing out heavily as soon as the door shuts behind him.  

He didn't realize how much of a toll these past few weeks have been taking on him until just now, as he sags against the counter and looks up into his face in the mirror.  He looks terrible - dark circles under his eyes, lank hair, a sort of weariness emanating from him that's scarily visible. _Okay,_ he tells himself, breathes in and out through his nose.   _Just hold on.  Don't make a big deal over this, Tony, you should be grateful really that you aren't stuck at SHIELD for the holidays - or worse, at home._

Finally, after what seems like forever, he pushes off the counter and starts the shower, careful to avoid looking in the mirror as he takes off his jacket and shirt.  He's trembling when the cold hits his exposed skin, and it's not only because of the icy air. _Fuck, it's chilly._ At least the cold decidedly gives him more of an incentive to hurry up and finish his shower, because he's already wasted at least seven minutes wallowing in his angst.

Suddenly, there's a scritchy noise and a thump from outside the door, and the door bursts open.  Barnes is there, face turned to the hall still, and he's hollering, "Relax, Stevie, I just need t' get my pain meds really quick - oh, _shit - "_

Barnes is wide-eyed, staring at Tony through the steam.  "Fuck, sorry Stark, shit, shit, I completely walked into the wrong room - "

And then he stops.  Stops and stares like he can't help it.

"It - uh - it's okay," Tony stammers after a pause, more shocked than anything, when he feels the cold air from the doorway filtering in and hitting his bare skin -

 _Wait._ His bare skin.

His chest, marred with disgusting scars, the disgusting scars that nobody - not even Pepper or Rhodey - has ever seen -

_"Stark?"_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really am not confident about this chapter...is it okay lol  
> -  
> i've been thinking about a4 and i was theorizing - imagine if when they time travel, they realize that by changing the timeline, when they travel back to the present, they will lose all their memories of the original timeline. and so steve and tony say goodbye to each other in the past and when they travel back, steve's no longer there - he died a forgettable face in the 40's from one health disorder or another because for some reason, when history changed, erskine never got to him in time - and tony's in clean energy with his wife pepper and his child. i would say more about this and i actually wrote up a whole thing on this time-travel-losing-memories thing, but that's too much to put here.  
> ALSO:  
> screenrant's theory of chronosthesia (look it up) is the most fascinating theory about memories vs literal time travel & a4 ever. it's super trippy. definitely go read what they said!  
> alsoooo...  
> stan lee, creator of marvel. died at 95 11/12/2018. rest in peace


	16. winter pollen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does the ch title "winter pollen" really fit this chapter? hmm, no. but is it the name of the ted hughes collection i stole a quote from? yes  
> -  
> happy thanksgiving everyone! where i am, it became thanksgiving around half an hour ago, so i'm hoping you guys are all about to either a) go to sleep, or b) see this when you wake up. as a kind of good night/good morning chap :)  
> -  
> i am, as usual, super not confident about this chapter. if i totally did not get the characterizations of bucky and tony right, i will literally re-write and hardcore edit because i'm wading into dangerous territory now...where i have no idea what i'm doing whatsoever...and bucky is doing a turnaround but like,, how do people actually ,, people ,,  
> -  
> (not replying to everyone's cus u know how i roll i'm lazy but trust me i do read all comments...to boost my ego)  
> @abberdeen: t h a n k y o u  
> @"ur a god"/"ur+a+god": aw ty but i'm not a god, i'm just thorsty. but only lowkey - or should i say -  
> @bughug69: your comments are just great. i mean, everyone's comments are great. but you used the words "atmospheric" and "visceral" and mmmm delicious  
> @thelosersclubs: ur very funny i appreciate u  
> @gratifiednabiha: i see your comments often, so thank you!! your keyboard smashes are as impressive as your comment rate (e.g. "lksdjfOJOSDIJGOSIDJG")  
> @i_put_myself_back_in_the_narrative: yep, i relate. i've got some scars i'm super self-conscious and uncomfortable about. hope u doin ok tho :)  
> @the_ghost_king: yo nice profile pic  
> @ other really nice people: i want to thank everyone individually but i hate superlong a/ns hdmfhs

 

 

_"i think it was milosz, the polish poet, who when he lay in a doorway and watched the bullets lifting the cobbles out of the street beside him realised that most poetry is not equipped for life in a world where people actually die.  but some is."_

― ted hughes,  _winter pollen: occasional prose_

**16.**

_ "Stark,"  _ Barnes repeats, sounding horrified.

Gasping, Tony stumbles back, grabbing his shirt off the counter and pressing it to his body like it'll somehow erase everything Barnes has just seen.  His mind is pounding, frantic, and Barnes is just  _ standing  _ there, frozen, not doing anything or saying anything -

"Hey, hey," Barnes is saying, still wide-eyed but more composed now, and fumbles to shut the door with his gaze still fixed on Tony.  "Stark. It's okay."

"You saw - but you saw - "  Tony can't get the words out properly.  They're falling from his mouth all wrong, jumbled and thick.  Oh God, this is it, isn't it, he's finally done it, he's ruined everything,  _ everything.   _ Yesterday was bad?  What a joke. This is  _ so  _ much worse,  _ so much worse, everything just _ keeps on  _ getting worse. _

"Shh, calm down," Barnes says slowly, and inches towards Tony, hands out in front of him.  Tony notes distantly that Barnes isn't looking at his chest at all but his face. "'M not gonna - it's just scarring.  'M not gonna judge you for it, if that's what you're wonderin'."

Tony flinches back when Barnes draws nearer, and the other boy immediately steps away, hands still raised - almost like a gesture of surrender.  "Don't - don't come closer," Tony manages to get out, breath rasping. "I - can't - "

"Okay," Barnes murmurs lowly.  His eyes seem shaded in, dark now; it is strangely different from the color his eyes had been outside - the way they had reflected the pale grey-blue of the winter sky.  "I'll stay over here, okay?"

"Yeah."  Tony cringes at the dry, raspy quality of his voice.  "You can leave. I'm okay." His voice cracks and splinters off at the end.

Barnes quirks his mouth like he knows something Tony doesn't.  "No, you're not," he counters. Then he seems to realize that Tony's still half-naked in front of him, trembling with the cold and trying to burrow in the sweatshirt as much as possible.  "You should probably - "

"I need to shower," Tony says, lamely.  He feels about two inches away from tears, and the heat inside his throat is wriggling around, clinging to the hollows of his larynx like mucus.  His hands are shaking so hard that he probably looks like an addict overdosed on crack. 

"Stark," Barnes says, "I'm sorry."

Tony shakes his head jerkily.  "Nothing to be sorry for."

Suddenly, Barnes is in front of him and he's crouched down, holding out a wad of toilet paper.  "Here," he's murmuring, and Tony blinks and he's sitting on the floor and Barnes's face is all blurry like he's looking through a foggy window pane.  

"Fuck," Tony says.  He blinks again, mumbles almost surprisedly, "I'm c-crying."

Barnes laughs a little; it's a quiet huff of sound.  "Yeah." He pauses for a second before slipping off his jacket, gently easing Tony's damp sweatshirt from the other boy's grip as he drapes his own over Tony's shoulders.  "Thor was right, y'know - you're gonna catch a cold at this rate."

Tony tips his head back against the cabinets.  "N-no p-p-point in being sick if it's n-not during a school week."

Barnes glances at him, unimpressed.  "D'you even realize how hard you're shiverin' right now, Stark?"  When Tony just looks at him, the other boy sighs. "Stay here. I'll go get a blanket or somethin'.  Just don't move."

"Wait," Tony says, genuinely confused and cursing the way his breath hitches.  Absentmindedly he runs a finger over his scarred chest, feeling the winding bumps and ridges, the rough, gross texture of the ruined skin.  All his cards are down now - it's just him, his history, and Barnes, who hates him. "Why are you d-doing this for me? I'm f-fine." There's something so surreal about this scene - the tile cold through the damp seat of his jeans, the yellowing bathroom lights, like he's not even here - could float away, spin through the air as fine as film and disappear forever into some other otherworldly place.

Barnes frowns down at him, an indecipherable expression flickering in his eyes.  His metal hand twitches a little, almost unconsciously. "I'm missing an arm, Stark," he says in the end, mouth quirking up wryly.  "You're not the only one who struggles with...body image issues."

-

As soon as Bucky leaves the restroom, he has to close his eyes and calm himself.  With all of the commotion, he'd completely forgotten about his pain meds, and now the stinging in his stump of a left shoulder springs back full force.   _ Don't worry, it's typical for amputees to experience this kind of sensation after the accident,  _ the doctor had told him when Bucky had complained during a check-up in those earlier days.   _ We call it phantom pains - your nerves are still firing because they remember losing the arm, even if the limb is no longer there. _

Thanks for the reminder, Doc.

In any case, his nerves still haven't gotten the memo that Bucky's arm has been missing for years, and his shoulder still occasionally hurts.  Like now, when he'd been going to get something to ease the pain and had stupidly,  _ stupidly  _ walked into the bathroom instead of his and Steve's room because he hadn't been paying any attention -

And Stark.  Bucky's just surprised that he hadn't reacted more vocally, because honestly?  Stark's chest is probably the worst case of scarring he's ever seen, at least in person.  The guy's upper torso is utterly riddled with scars - caused by what though, he isn't sure - 

Jesus.  What had happened to the guy?

It's almost like Stark's body is seared into his mind now.  It's not like Stark is  _ bad  _ looking - the SI heir is actually pretty toned and tan beneath those clothes - but the scarring.

Bucky can't get those fucking scars out of his head.

_ Maybe Stark's been in a fire?  _ he thinks, but then frowns.  Something that bad would've been on the news, right?  Maybe he poured something hot down his shirt as a child?  He supposes that alone would explain the flinching, in any case; nobody wants other people to see their physical "imperfections", after all.  

As he enters the bedroom, he shouts down the stairs that he's going to be showering after Stark and that he'll be awhile.  Nobody says anything back, except for Steve's hollered "Don't take too long, jerk!" But for the first time, Bucky's grateful that he's missing an arm - everyone knows he has to take it off whenever he showers, and that'll hopefully afford him enough time to do something about the Stark situation in his bathroom.

Speaking of which…

After Bucky's dry-swallowed two pain pills, he heads back down to the restroom with a blanket he's snagged from the closet.  It's a little worn and threadbare, but it's warm and should keep Stark from catching a cold (if he hasn't caught one already).  When he re-enters, Stark's still in the same spot on the floor, trembling violently and huddling into his knees and Bucky's jacket.

Bucky clears his throat awkwardly and Stark jolts back against the cabinets with a smack that has got to hurt.  "Uh - here," he says, forcing the blanket forward. "So you can at least stay warm while you calm down."

Apparently the wrong choice of words, because Stark's face contorts into a grimace.  "'M  _ fine,"  _ he insists, even though he really isn't.  While he's busy glaring at the floor, he wraps the blanket around his narrow frame.  

Bucky doesn't know what to do, so he settles for leaning against the door and studying the lines of the tiles.  After a while, though, Stark's voice - now devoid of shivering for the most part - filters through his thoughts.  "Uh - thank you." Bucky looks up to see the other boy swallowing hard, hands clenching the blanket. "I'm sorry. Sorry."  

Without even anticipating it, Bucky feels a hot course of pity and - is that empathy? - flashing through him.  He can only imagine how awful it must feel to first have a panic attack in front of a bunch of peers, and then another one in front of an almost-stranger.  He doesn't know Stark is feeling now, but based on the slight tremors running through the other boy's hands and the haunted look in his eyes, Bucky can guess that the weight of the past two days has been taking a pretty heavy toll.

Slowly, so that Stark can see what he's doing, Bucky kneels on the ground and sits cross-legged in front of the billionaire son.  "Hey," he murmurs lowly. "Breathe with me, okay? Close your eyes and I'll count."

Stark eyes him with heavy suspicion but does it anyway.  Bucky can see how his eyes move around under his eyelids and his breath hitches.  "Okay," Bucky says. He's never been good at this - good at comfort - and he's sure as hell never been good like Steve or even Thor, but he remembers vividly all the months post losing his arm.  He remembers all of that shit. And Stark - it might not be the same, and not everyone deals with trauma the same way, but he remembers the way the only kind social worker he ever had breathed with him.   _ It's okay, James, breathe with me.  Feel my chest? Feel my heartbeat? Breathe with me.   _ "I can just count, or - there's this thing I used t' do.  Can I - touch you for a second?"

Stark stiffens against the cupboards and his eyes open, a piercing, startling chocolate color.  "So that's what this is about?" 

It's such a shift from the nervous, fumbling tone of earlier that for a second Bucky just sits there, staring.  "What? About what?"

"You just want - "  Stark motions violently, eyebrows settling low.  "You just want a quick fuck or something then, huh?  That's what you wanted all this time? Coulda spared the blanket and everything, Barnes."

"What?   _ No,"  _ Bucky says sharply.  "I would never - " And then he realizes how wrong that's going to sound, especially when Stark's hand twitches over his scarred chest and a flash of something raw and wounded crosses his face for a second.

"I didn't mean it like that, Stark."  Bucky sighs. "I meant - here." Lightly, slowly, he guides Tony's other hand - the one that's clenched in the folds of the blanket - to his flesh wrist, and presses Tony's thumb over his pulse.  "Heartbeats calm me. I dunno if it'd work for you - but it helps me."

Stark watches him, still wary.  "So you're  _ not  _ going to - to try anything?" he mutters finally, his voice thin.

"No," Bucky says clearly.  "That came out the wrong way.  I won't, Stark. You have my word."  Stark looks like he doesn't really think Bucky's word is worth much, but then the teen tips his head back against the cabinets again and screws his eyes shut, thumb firm on Bucky's pulse.  

"Okay," Bucky says lowly after a moment, trying not to watch the other boy.  Stark's lashes are long and dark against his flushed cheeks. "You can feel my heartbeat, right?"

Stark's next breath shudders out of his chest as he nods his head.  

"Okay, good."  Awkwardly, Bucky settles down next to Stark so that their backs are both up against the cabinets, side by side.  "I'm just going to...we're just gonna breathe now, yeah? In, out, in, out, like that."

Another shuddering breath, except this time the exhale is huffed out, almost as if in amusement.  "Just...get on with it, Barnes."

Bucky doesn't need to be told twice; "in, one, two, three.  Out, one, two, three," he instructs, quietly so as not to startle the genius.  He watches as Stark's chest rises and falls alongside Bucky's words, at first jerky but then slowly evening out.  "There we go," he finds himself murmuring, which startles even himself. Just yesterday morning, he was busy seething at Stark like normal.  Even last night, he'd been...wary. But now, it's like...a lot of his anger's loosened in his chest and has unraveled, like ribbons turning limp when you flatten them out.  He feels weary, now, and old, and for some reason it feels almost like a big act of trust, letting Stark feel the blood pulsing underneath the thin skin of his wrist. 

_ Wrists are so delicate,  _ Bucky mulls, his counting eventually giving way to silence.  His metal one flashes under the bathroom light. Stark's wrists - his hands and fingers and wrists - are delicate, for sure.  The other boy doesn't look shrimpy or anything, but those fingers look they'd be fragile enough to break if someone squeezed them hard enough.

Stark cracks an eye open before Bucky can react, and tenses a little.  "See something particularly interesting?" he says warily.

"Sorry," Bucky mutters.  Funny, how he's the one apologizing now.  "Nothin'. Want me to keep counting?"

"'M good," Stark says.  And it seems true - the color's returned to his face, and his hands are no longer shaking vigorously.  "Uh." The teenage playboy suddenly looks horribly shy and embarrassed. "Thanks. Barnes."

Bucky isn't sure, really, what he's going to say till he says it.  It's not like they're friends - hell, it's not even like they're acquaintances.  But it feels like something's changed, somehow, in this small bathroom scene, in the half hour since he walked into the wrong room by accident and caught Stark shirtless and more than a little sad and covered in scars.  "We're all a little bit broken," he ends up with, his voice gruff. "So it would be kinda stupid if I judged you for this, wouldn't it?"

Stark's gaze is downcast.  "I guess."

Bucky sighs.  "Stark," he says.  Might as well get anything he wants to say out now.  "I don't...it's hard. To forgive you."

Stark swallows and shifts back against the cabinet doors a bit.  "Yeah. Yeah. I - I know. I get it."

"But I guess you're kinda...dealin' with some things."   _ Shit, Barnes, you're terrible at this.   _ "What I'm tryin' t' say is - we've been shit.  And I know we said we're gonna stop, but I figured - you should probably hear it from me.  Since everything's between us, in a way." Bucky huffs a laugh ruefully. "I'm an asshole, which you've probably already realized.  But I'm tryin'. My arm's sorta a sensitive area for me. And I guess I've been overreactin' about some things, because every time I look at you I think of my arm.  But I want to apologize for real."

Stark looks up at him; it's really weird, actually, how bright Stark's eyes are.  They're a real dark brown, but they sort of...gleam. Not in a creepy glint-y evil way, or in a wet, tearful way, but it's…  Bucky doesn't know how to describe it. He sure as hell didn't notice this before, but he guesses he hasn't really ever  _ looked  _ at Stark before either, really looked at him.

"Why now?"  Stark's voice is so soft that even with Bucky's unusually sharp hearing, he has to strain to make out the other boy's words.

Bucky looks at his hands.  And answers, honestly, "I don't know."

There's a beat of silence, and then Stark twists his hands in his lap.  "I should probably, uh. Shower."

Bucky nods once, twice, and then stands, taking the proffered jacket and blanket.  Stark clears his throat and it looks almost painful. "I, um. Thank you."

"Yeah," Bucky says simply, turning to leave.  He suddenly doesn't know where to look without making it look like blatant avoidance of othe other boy's chest, so his eyes connect with Stark's instead.  It's almost surprising how intense Stark's gaze is. "Still...can't really...see you without seein' our fight." He quirks a wry smile.  "But I'm not without fault, and you're kinda stuck with all of my friends, who honestly tend to be incredibly protective."

"Thanks," Stark mumbles, and almost as an afterthought, adds in a whisper, "Sorry."

Bucky would tell him, would tell him  _ don't apologize,  _ but the thing is, he's a coward and Stark's still a stranger to him.  Sure, a kid who broke his arm and moved into his house (even if just for winter break) and broke down in front of him more times than most people have, but at the end of the day, still a stranger.

So he just says, "I'll shower after you," and walks out.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i say constructive criticism is welcome, i mean it!! (but uh try not to make it mean lol i'm sensitive,, also ok omg someone commented on my team cap-roasty fic with this entire drinking game essay about how tony stark stans suck. did anyone else receive this who writes/has written team-cap roasties? because hot DAMn this person went like,, all out. i was impressed - i fr wish i had that kind of determined work effort)  
> but like guys  
> I WANT TO MAKE BUCKY BE NICER BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW. ANY SUGGESTIONS? IS THE BALL ROLLIN' OK OR IS THE HILL KINDA GETTING BUMPY NOW? i just wanna write the best fic possible for u guys & myself lmao // but anyway yeah. is bucky getting too nice too quickly? i can amp it down. i think bucky's just in a very confusing predicament in terms of his feelings right now, but perhaps i'm not expressing that confusion clearly enough.  
> -  
> ALSO:  
> guys...yes...tony will one day get the apology he deserves. but please remember that this fic is tailored to be realistic (i mean, besides the terrible kidnapping/prosthetic info plot holes lol). bucky & co aren't gonna just jump right in and be like "tony u adorable cinnamon roll we're sorry." it's gonna be a process


	17. loose moments of happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony eats breakfast and reveals that he is the kind of person who puts both butter and jam on his toast. the teens + sarah plan to go to the annual neighborhood festival a few miles away and bucky reflects on his happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED UPDATE  
> DID YOU SEE THE NEW GOD DAMN 1ST RELEASED AVENGERS ENDGAME TRAILER  
> IM FREAKING TF OUT  
> OH ,, MY ,, GOD TONY!!!  
> the old stuff:  
> i wanted them to be pining buds by christmas but it's already saturday and christmas is on tuesday so that is not going to happen aka author underestimates human emotion  
> -  
> thank you to everyone who commented/suggested some routes for me to take on the next chapters of this story! all of you have such good ideas shrmhrhr  
> @ the people who are wary about winteriron because of previous conflict: i have said this before but i think maybe i'm detached because i'm the writer of this story and i've thereby read this story tons of times; however, i still personally don't think bucky did anything that bad to tony considering the circumstances. i think really it's more of his super defensive friend group (aka clint, bec clint man,,), and yes he called becky a slut, but his friend was getting bullied. i think this pairing still has a lot of potential and i hope i can convince those who are uncertain as to whether bucky is the right fit for tony, that bucky will be good to/for him :)  
> @complaining_is_cathartic: i didn't even intentionally write the parallels/reverse-mcu themes! the fact that you noticed this is snazzy  
> @ironmuffin: yeah honestly we need more sarah i'll get to that  
> @thelosersclubs: tbh we're all sadistic here  
> @"crazy": hey you definitely didn't misunderstand my "request for requests" (lol) so don't even worry about it. thank you for your input :)  
> @professional_meatball: thailand?? hhfhsdhfsdh i wanna go there because i LOVE thai food it's my second favorite food after vietnamese  
> @thexploress: steve totally needs that towel also lmaooo i want to give mom gifts like that  
> @ironstan "multiples 1's attached to ur user": THANK YOU FOR YOUR TONS OF GREAT SONG RECS i looked some of em up and they're all amazing i will use them fs  
> -  
> guys i'm weeping tony stark is so beautiful

 

 

_ “if a man cannot understand the beauty of life, it is probably because life never understood the beauty in him.”  _

― criss jami,  _ killosophy _

 

**17.**

 

On Saturday morning, Bucky watches as Stark pads into the kitchen, eyes flitting around as he tentatively takes a seat in the empty chair across from Bucky.  "Good morning," Thor says from beside the other teen kindly, and Bruce smiles softly in greeting. 

"Uh - good morning."  The reply, when it comes, is nervous and stilted.

Bucky continues to watch as Stark tugs his sleeves down further over his knuckles, which seems to be a nervous habit of his.  It's almost like he's shrinking into that red sweatshirt, wanting it to cover as much of him as possible. From somewhere inside him, another Bucky rises to the surface.  This Bucky is sadder, softer, more understanding, although Bucky himself can't imagine why this not-unusual image of Stark is pulling such sudden emotion from him where before, there was none.  This Bucky leans forward and offers a piece of toast to Stark before asking, "Sleep well?"

Stark jerks a little in his seat, evidently surprised to have been addressed - and by Bucky, no less.  "Yeah," he says, quietly. "The - the heating's nice. Thank you." He takes the toast hesitantly, and his fingers accidentally brush against Bucky's for a fraction of an instant, a flash of warmth against the skin of the other boy's knuckles.

"What kinda toast person are you?"  Bucky slides a square of butter across the table, then two jars of both strawberry and raspberry, respectively.  "We don't have grape, but only a heathen hates strawberry."

"Aw, shut up," Steve says from across the table with a casual roll of the eyes, even though Bucky can only tell from years of being the blonde's best friend that he's a little surprised at how friendly the conversation's going.

"He doesn't like strawberry," Bucky stage-whispers.  "Even hates the fruit."

An uncertain smile sidles its way onto Tony's face, but it looks like the guy isn't sure whether he'll be punished for finding the joke funny.  Thor, however, chuckles, the low rumble of his amusement erasing some of the hesitance in Stark's expression. 

"So, what'll it be," Bucky says, choosing to ignore Steve's questioning gaze for now.  "Butter or jam?"

At this, Stark's mouth quirks up, almost in a gesture of sheepishness.  "I like both, actually."

"What?"

"I - um - "  All of Stark's budding confidence seems to vanish.  "I put the butter on first. Then the jelly on top."

"Is this tasty?" Thor inquires.  "I have never done such a thing as this!"

Bucky watches, almost in amazement, as Stark glances over at Thor and visibly softens; apparently Thor's exuberance really can loosen up anyone.  "Yeah, it's, uh, it's pretty good."

"I shall try this immediately," Thor announces, and grabs for the knife and condiments, spreading the jelly and butter thick over each of his five slices eagerly.  "You have fascinating breakfast habits, Stark."

Stark smiles bemusedly.  "Thank you, I think?"

"...should go see the local Christmas parade today," Clint's voice filters through Bucky's thoughts all of a sudden, volume rising alongside his eagerness.  "Guys. Guys. We should go see it. We didn't go last year, remember?" Clint's glancing over at them, not even bothering to acknowledge how they're all huddled near Stark (and Bucky's weirdly but overtly grateful for that, for whatever the reason - it's probably because he's never liked drama).  

"Yeah," Steve says, nodding slowly.  "I can get my ma to take us. It's only two miles away, and it's pretty colorful and fun."  This last statement is aimed towards Stark, who's frowning slightly.

"That's a good idea," Bucky adds, grinning at Steve.  "It's been, what, four years since she's gone too? And we'll promise to behave nicely so she won't have to watch our asses the whole time."

"Well, the parade itself starts at five pm and goes on till nighttime, so we've got some time," Steve murmurs.  His blue eyes flit up to check the clock above the sill. "I vote we stay in till then, though. I'm saving my cold endurance for later."

"Why don't we tell Stark a little bit about the parade?" Natasha interrupts, her green eyes as unreadable as usual.  She tips her head toward the boy in question. "He doesn't know what he's getting into."

Bucky huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes at her.  "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"Okay," Bruce says, his voice as quiet as it always is but still managing to effectively take control of the room.  "It's not - the parade probably isn't what you're used to...it's not - funded by a big organization, or anything - but it's really colorful and it's...happy, you know?"

Stark's mouth quirks.  "Okay, happy. I can work with that."

"It's kind of like a Rose Parade, but Christmas-based," the other boy continues, pushing his sliding glasses up the bridge of his nose.  "I think you guys have that in California? Anyway, it's mostly just a bunch of neighborhood people getting together and putting on a sort of parade slash show.  We went two years ago and it was pretty nice. They have a festival that goes on simultaneously and people sell food and hot chocolate and little homemade crafts."

"I mean, if it's too quaint for you, you don't have to go," Clint chimes in, only to get elbowed by Natasha and leveled by a Steve Stare - or, as Bucky likes to call it, the infamous Militaristic/Patriotic Captain America stare.  Clint throws his hands up. "Alright, okay, no comments, I know. But I'm just saying. Stark probably isn't - you're probably not used to this sort of thing, are you?"

Stark seems to be shrinking, although that might be a weird side-effect of Bucky's painkillers/how that red sweatshirt is just a little bit oversized.  "Um - not - I don't really go to many parades," the teen says finally, voice low. "In general. It's just not - I guess I went to one once with Rhodey, but that was a long time ago.  I - my dad is kind of strict about holiday things."

_ Rhodey?  _ Bucky's mind questions, and he files the name away for later.  He's pretty sure he knows the popular crowd at SHIELD High, and this "Rhodey" is not among them.

"Oh, yeah," Clint says, but his tone is more carelessly amused than abrasive.  "You Starks have got a weird thing about Christmas."

Suddenly, the door tinkles open and dislodges with a scrape, and there stands Sarah Rogers in the doorway, Bucky's adoptive ma.  Her blonde hair is frosted with snow and her blue eyes are twinkling as she takes them all in around the table, plates of half-eaten toast and the leftover spaghetti from last night set out in front of them.

"Still eating?"  Sarah smiles as she hangs her coat up on a peg next to the door.  "It's 10:30."

"Ma," Steve groans.  "That's  _ early." _

Sarah steps over to the table and snags a piece of buttered toast from Steve's plate, winking at Bucky as she does so.  "Thanks, honey."

Steve rolls his eyes.

"We're thinking of going to the Christmas parade tonight," Bucky says, before Sarah can think to leave them alone.  "We were wondering if you'd like to come."

_ "Oh,"  _ Sarah says in response, and laughs.  "You mean, you were wondering if I would take you."

"Well, that too," Bucky says sheepishly.

"Sure, of course," Sarah tells them as she finishes the last of her slice and licks the crumbs from a thumb.  "I think we all need something to kickstart the Christmas weekend anyway, right?"

"Perfect."  Steve beams.  "Thanks, Ma!"

"Only if you fix the car, that is."  Sarah squints a little. "I may have done something to the engine, but I'm not really sure what."

"The car doesn't work?"  Steve's face is almost comical.  "Ma, the mechanic's shop is closed this weekend!"

"It still works," Sarah says, and sighs, running a hand through her hair.  "But it keeps sputtering - do any of you know anything about cars, by chance?"

Bucky's about to speak up, say  _ no, none of us do,  _ because it's true - neither he, nor Steve, nor Natasha nor Bruce nor Clint nor Thor know anything about vehicles - much less the mechanics of one.  He can barely even distinguish a Honda from a Ferrari, for God's sake. He can barely drive a stick shift without panicking, and he still gets flashbacks if he sits in the front seat.

"I - I can fix it."  The voice is so soft that for a second, Bucky doesn't even hear it.  But Sarah's picking her head up and looking straight at Stark, one of the most inviting smiles he's ever seen spreading across her face.

"Are you a car person, Tony?"

Stark shrugs after a moment.  "It's not that I - I mean, I guess.  I like mechanics. Engineering. That sort of thing."

Bruce looks up.  "Tony's the smartest person I know.  He can fix anything."

_ "Really,"  _ Sarah says, blue eyes sparkling.  "My, Tony, you didn't mention that."  For a second, however, her eyes flash to Bucky, and a hint of something sad creeps into her gaze.  But that makes no sense, why she'd be looking at him. It must be Bucky's imagination.

"I dabble," Stark mumbles, but his mouth is wavering like he's trying to fight off a smile.

It's kind of weird, really, Bucky realizes as he takes in the shorter teen sitting across from him.  Stark  _ is  _ a genius - but somehow, he's never really thought about it.  Sure, he's seen the news - when Bucky was a toddler, Stark was already making his first circuit board or something like that.  But for all of Stark's intellectual prowess, people rarely talk about it. At SHIELD High, it's always about Stark's skill in bed, or his quick tongue, or his brash attitude and wealth.  With an IQ that goddamn high, Stark should be an object of discussion solely for his brains, and yet even Bucky needs to be reminded of how smart the SI heir is. 

Huh.

"I hate to ask it of you, but do you think you could take a look at it right now?"  Sarah frowns apologetically. "If we're going to the parade, I've got to drop by the market and pick up some more groceries for tomorrow."

"Sure," Stark says into the silence.  He's already scooting back from the table.  "I just need - you have tools, right?"

"Tools?  Why would you need tools?" Sarah says, sounding awfully confused, and even Bucky doesn't miss the wince that crosses Stark's face before the woman is laughing.  "Kidding. I'm old but not  _ that  _ old.  I've got a box of things stored in the garage that you can use."

"Need any other help, Sarah?" Clint says.  "Can't do cars, but if you've got something else…"

"You all can go help Tony," Sarah says decisively, fluttering her hands to get them to start moving.  She's already peeling the other glove off her hand and has swept a pile of paperwork off the table, turning to go upstairs.  "Or clean the garage, or something. With all that clutter, the car will have to park in the driveway forever."

"You got it," Clint says, already hopping up from the table.  He grins at Sarah roguishly.

"And don't forget to clear the table and do the dishes!" Sarah calls as she exits and strides into the hallway.  "Remember, the dishes won't wash themselves!"

-

The time passes quickly before the Christmas parade.  Tony makes quick work of the car - it was just frost in the engine, and he ended up repairing the heating system, the headlights, and the motor.  To be honest, he's only done a fair amount of work with vehicles, but it's not hard to recall how each part works or to familiarize himself with the Rogers' car.  He notices Barnes watching him at some point and immediately grows self-conscious, shutting his mouth when he realizes his habit of sticking his tongue out as he works is acting up again and he probably looks stupid.

Finally, after he's fixed everything he can (because honestly, this car is old and kind of crappy, not that he'd ever say so aloud), he wheels out on Steve's old skateboard from beneath the underside of the car and finds everyone glancing over at him curiously.  

"Did you fix it?" Rogers says, broom in hand, and  _ wow,  _ Tony totally forgot how weird it is to have Rogers look at him with curiosity and only a hint of doubt instead of full on mistrust.

"Yeah, of course," Tony finds himself saying, even though okay Tony, this is  _ exactly  _ why they don't like you.  "And made some improvements."

"Improvements?"  

Tony shrugs, trying to pretend like his palms aren't suddenly sweating at the thought that maybe Steve and his mom didn't  _ want  _ adjustments.   _ There you go again, Stark, doing things without permission.   _ "Yeah, uh, it's just...if the engine wasn't working today, it was going to be something else tomorrow.  So I tried to...I just thought that I might as well fix everything. It's kind of not that great of a job, but at least it won't be falling apart again anytime soon."

He expects the disapproval - the anger.  So he definitely doesn't anticipate Steve pausing and then smiling.  At  _ him.   _ "Thanks, Stark."

"Uh - yeah.  No problem," he stutters, feeling the heat crawl up his spine and bloom all over his neck.  "It wasn't hard."

Barnes laughs, and Tony flinches a little, turning to look at the other boy.  

Barnes shakes his head, noticing the attention.  "Sorry," he says. "It's just...of course it wasn't hard for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tony says.  He'd honestly thought Barnes and he had settled things, even if they had only been able to do so because Tony had shown how weak he was.  Where is Barnes going with this?

"Nothin'."  Barnes mouth quirks up a little.  "You're just real smart, is all."

Tony's mind spins.  Another compliment, and it's only the afternoon.  If he didn't know better, he'd believe he's been transported into an alternate universe - one where Tony Starks get compliments, and people actually respect them, and maybe even admire them, and he doesn't feel so worthless and stupid all the time and…

_ Stop spiraling. _

"I - uh - thanks."

"It's almost 3:45," Natasha says suddenly, saving Tony from inevitable embarrassment.  "We should probably go." She pins Tony with those bright green eyes and he thinks,  _ Oh hell, she's thinking of ways to kill me,  _ but then she just nods at him and says, "Thank you for fixing the car, Stark."

"Yeah," he manages.

"Alrighty then," Steve says, and claps his hands together in what seems to be the most comically cheesy parody of a cheery all-American dad ever (at least, in Tony's very private opinion).  "I'll go get my ma, and then we can go. Don't forget your jackets!" 

Tugging his sweatshirt sleeves over his knuckles, Tony climbs into the van after Bruce.  He finds himself wedged in the back between his science buddy and Barnes, and wraps his arms around himself so that his body is as narrow as possible.

"You're probably not expecting much," Bruce says softly, his eyes dancing behind his glasses, "but it's actually really nice.  It's nothing fancy, obviously, but I hope you like it."

"You like it, don't you?"  It warms Tony's heart, seeing Bruce so...openly happy.  How he's so openly enjoying himself. Sure, Bruce smiles sometimes when Tony makes a stupid joke in AP Physics, but for the most part - as Tony's beginning to realize - Bruce's school experience has probably just consisted of eating with his friends at lunch and getting harassed in the hallways and a bunch of strangers he's never met before asking him for the answers to homework.  Tony understands, probably on a deeper level than is healthy, how that feels, but it doesn't mean he wants other people to feel the same way. And especially not Bruce, with his floppy brown curls and those rare and painfully timid peeks of dry humor.

"Yeah.  I really do."  Bruce settles back into the seat, watching Tony.  "I don't get much of this at home. Not even with Betty, who's a really great foster parent.  She's nice, but she isn't much into activity or going places."

Tony hums, because that's all he really knows to do in response.  "Well, I'm glad you have this," he says honestly. He glances around the car, at everyone talking to each other lazily but happily; at Barton and Romanoff, huddled together as per usual, and Thor twisted around in his seat, talking to a Barnes who has leaned forward to listen to whatever crazy tale the blonde is telling now.  "It's special. What you guys have. I'm glad they're here for you."

"Yeah," Bruce says, sounding surprised.  "I'm - really grateful for them. It's cool, that you noticed."

The car settles into a lull when Steve and Ms. Rogers - Sarah - return.  Sarah hops into the driver's seat and her son into the passenger's, and Sarah turns around and smiles at them.  "Everyone ready? Seatbelts on?" With nods of affirmation from everyone, she starts the car up; Tony breathes a sigh of relief internally at how everything seems to be working smoothly.  "Okay," she says, patting the wheel. "Let's go."

-

Bucky is pretty sure - actually scratch that, one hundred percent sure - that the Rogers' van wasn't working this damn good before.  Firstly, there's none of that rumbling he's so used to hearing, and secondly - if Sarah's exclamations are anything to go by - the car lights are in perfect working order now as well.  He can't even guess what else Stark's fixed, but...damn. 

The craziest thing is that back in the garage, Stark scooted out from under there with his hair tufted up and grease smeared on his cheekbone like it was the most normal thing in the world.  Like he hadn't done anything but a few hours of meaningless, casual work that didn't even deserve a thanks. 

He glances over now at Stark; the teen is talking quietly to Bruce, and his hair is still sticking up in dark brown tufts that somehow look stylized even in their wildness.  Past Stark is the window, and Bucky sees the more populated neighborhood come into view, where people are already set up on blankets and in tents on the sides of the streets.  Although it's still snowy, it hasn't blizzarded since yesterday, and the town is basically set up to provide warmth to its inhabitants with heat lamps lining the streets and multiple fire pits in the park.

Finally, Sarah rolls to a stop on one of the side streets a few blocks away from the park and the empty land beyond, which are home to the festival that goes on both before and after the parade.  From what Bucky remembers, there are a few rides - mostly for kids, but fun nevertheless - and tons of tented food stalls. His favorite, however, has always been the Ferris Wheel. From experience, he knows that they don't always put the Ferris Wheel up - this is a small town and it takes a lot of effort to put it together, after all - but it never fails to bring him childish excitement when they do.  In fact, part of the benefit of being a small town is that there's a lot more land to use, so that's why they can even have a wheel in the first place.

Treading through the sparse snow that's been, for the most part, cleared off the streets and pushed onto the edges of the sidewalks like a low guardrail, Bucky searches almost anxiously for the telltale top of carriages swinging in the air.  And - and there it is. Right behind the plumes of smoke drifting up from one of the stalls - probably a grill - arches the top of the wheel, with a lone pink carriage swinging from its inner curve. 

Without even realizing he's doing it, Bucky's face splits into a smile.  God, it might be cheesy to say but it's so true that sometimes the smallest pleasures make you the happiest.  He fucking  _ loves  _ that ride.  He loves the chill air, the freedom, how he's able to look over the entire town in just a glimpse.  How maybe if he stretched his fingers out, he could touch the stars.

"What're you looking so happy about, Buck?" Steve says, coming up next to him and slinging an arm around his shoulders.  

Bucky ducks his head, but he can't wipe the the deliriously happy grin off his face.  "Nothin'. I'm just glad about the Ferris Wheel 's all."

"Oh yeah," Steve murmurs.  He shoots a teasing look at Bucky.  "I forgot about your obsession with that ride."

Bucky rolls his eyes.  "It makes me happy. That's all.  _Punk."_

"Jerk!"

The two stumble, arms wrapped around each other's waists and shoulders, for the rest of the walk to the park.  God, in this moment Bucky is so fucking happy nothing can bring his mood down. It's the first week of winter break, it's a weekend, he's at the festival with his best friends in the world and he's been through a lot of shit but it's  _ good  _ now.  He might even say that he's okay.  Sometimes he still gets nightmares; sometimes he still wakes up screaming and Steve has to calm him down before he gags on the tears and the memories.  But it's four and the sun's going to set in half an hour and the sky's this beautiful cold grey color, almost like ice. There are children running around and parents holding hands, and two girls are making out behind a tree and laughing into each other's mouths.  The smell of barbecue and soup and hot dogs and snow is thick in the air, and his best friend is at his hip like he's always been, and everyone looks so god damn  _ happy  _ that Bucky could cry.  He thinks of all the people who don't get to have this right now - this  _ happiness -  _ just like how he was a few winters ago, scared and lonely and lost and so fucking fragile he could shatter into a million pieces.  

Stumbling through the sifted snow with Steve at his side, he wishes fervently for everyone in the world to have an experience of this kind of bliss at least once in their lives.  Obviously that's not possible - life isn't fair at fucking all, and it's stupid to say that it is when some people really  _ do  _ get the best ends of every stick - but he hopes that even if there isn't eternal happiness for them all, even if they're all damned in the end, that everyone can have one individual moment of happiness.  

"Gosh, I'm just real happy right now, Buck," Steve says into his ear.  "Are you?" For a second, Steve's eyes flash with concern. "You are, right?"

"Yeah."  Bucky smiles to himself.  It's taken a while, but now he doesn't even have to lie about his answer anymore.  "Yeah, I'm happy." 

Above him, the sky carves through his skin and into his very blood and bone.   _ Take that,  _ he thinks, and sees his parents die and sees his arm get crushed and sees the CPS worker's head plummet through the windshield.  Ever since he was orphaned, Bucky's been sad. So god damn sad. And somewhere, deep inside, he's still sad. But still - it makes him feel fierce, like he's won something, that the world can beat the shit out of him and he can stand with the blood leaking from his nose and still form genuine smiles.  

Small victories, he thinks to himself, and watches as the Ferris Wheel starts to rotate again and everyone, even Stark, lifts their heads to watch it.   _ Small victories. _

__  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried to give yall some more bucky time :) tell me what you thought? i'm excited for next chapter because i'm planning to make it awkward fluff. (tony finally enjoying himself, bucky "wheeing!" on the ferris wheel, rides and parades and snowy nighttimes and so much food)  
> -  
> it's raining so hard here. SO HARD. i love it sm though because where i live, it's normally quite hot until winter


	18. white in my eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> festival!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out keaton henson. he's a slow, quiet, broken-voiced artist. if you're into that, check him out. // geminid meteor shower occurred very recently on dec 15! :) i didn't see it, but i heard about it and saw pictures. its occurrence alone made me feel very very alive in this universe. also, i had a lot of fun writing this, mostly because i frickin love fairs/festivals. tony and bucky's attitudes kind of completely portray how i feel about these kinds of things  
> -  
> ok i know my chapters have been coming slowly oof...but i'm on winter break now, so hopefully i can update faster for the next two weeks! this chapter is literally 7k words (jesus christ lmao i went crazy overboard) so,, i hope that makes up for it lol  
> -  
> anyone else notice that rdj/tony licks his bottom lip a lot dksfjslfjsdfsdcb

 

 

_and please do not hurt me, love,_

_i am a fragile one, and you are the white in my eyes_

_please do not break my heart,_

_i think it's had enough pain to last the rest of my life_

\- keaton henson,  _10am gare du nord_

 

**18.**

Tony munches on the rice-and-beef wrap he's just purchased contentedly.  Despite the cold, the warmth from all the fires and heat lamps around the park as well as the hot tinfoil in his hand help to keep him feeling cozy.  In his pocket, he's got about twenty five cents change, a fifty, and two leftover tens.

It's almost five now, and the sun's already begun to set - it's not the kind of sunset that would be happening in Malibu right now, with its pink streaks strung through a golden wash, but it's a different kind of beautiful.  The kind where the cool grey slowly fades away to this startling, almost snowy white until darkening under the star-speckled sky. Beneath it - around him - he can see others setting up along the sidewalks and around the edge of the park, snug in blankets and coats and earmuffs.  

Beside him, Bruce is holding a bag full of rock candies for all of them.  Tony's never eaten one of them before, but they're like colored crystals on toothpick-thin sticks.  Clint's never had them either, so Bruce takes it upon himself to explain it: "It forms from allowing sugar to crystallize."  And to Tony: "A supersaturated solution of sugar and water crystallizes on a surface suitable for crystal nucleation - like a stick.  The sugar precipitates and the water binds to the sucrose molecules so that they can be pulled away into the solution."

"We should probably start setting up if we want to get a good seat for the parade," Steve says, basically echoing everyone else's thoughts.  "Ma left blankets and a tent in the car."

After trudging back to the van and hauling their things out, they set up near a heat lamp, sandwiched right between a jolly-looking family speaking German and a family with three wild-eyed little boys.  Sarah smiles briefly at Tony as he finishes off the rest of his wrap, handing him both a stick of rock sugar and a blanket. "We've got plenty of blankets, so put this one around you. You look cold."

It is almost night time now, the sky a deep, inky color that is both pale and not, all at once.  The townspeople have evidently picked their festival day well - there's only soft snowfall, and the wind - for once - is absent.  However, he's distracted once they've finished unfolding the tent - instead of the normal opening of a tent, the entire side wall and the door flaps have been cut out like a box left on its side.  

Tony stares.

Sarah catches him doing so, and laughs from beside him.  Happiness looks really good on her, Tony thinks absentmindedly.  It creates more lines in her face, but Sarah Rogers is the type of woman to whom smiling and laughing belongs.  "Don't worry, we have another tent," she says amusedly. "This is just for fair days, so there's more room for everyone to see rather than just out of a small slit."

"That...makes sense," Tony offers, because it _does,_ even if it's kind of not something people normally do.  Sarah just laughs more at whatever she sees on his face.

Once they've pinned the tent down with long stakes ("so that it can reach the ground through the snow," Bruce explains), Tony tries to wedge himself in the very side of the tent but somehow ends up directly in the middle between both his science buddy and Thor.  He doesn't even know how it's happened, but he has the sneaking suspicion that Sarah pulled Thor, Rogers, and Barnes aside on purpose to have them file into the tent after Tony. He can't figure out why - is this a punishment or a kind gesture of sorts? - but god damn, Steve's mom is smiling softly at him again and he has no idea what he did to deserve this woman.

"The parade is starting," Thor says brightly as a horn sounds and drum beats thrum in the distance.  He glances down at Tony from where he sits, towering at least four inches over the other boy. "You will enjoy this greatly, Stark."

"Yeah, actually, even though the town is small, the performance is great," Bruce adds.  He's watching the streets intently, not even looking at Tony as he speaks. "They use a lot of lights, and since it gets dark so early in the winter, it looks beautiful."

Tony swallows.  "Lights...like…"  His face burns and he avoids the glances from either side consciously.

Bruce's gaze is sharp as he glances aside.  "Not fire," he reassures him softly. "Lights that run on electricity.  And some sparklers. That's about it."

The parade starts marching down the street, and even though they're still too far away to see beside the odd flash of colored light, Tony can't help but lean forward in anticipation.  He's never watched a parade before - or, at least, he doesn't think he has, not even on TV. And it shouldn't be such a big deal, considering he's been to Spain and Greece and so many other countries that he can't keep track, but also he sometimes feels like he's missing something.  Somehow.

As the parade trails down the street, Tony can see the faint figures of a marching band lit up by lights strung around their necks.  Some of them are young - very young, almost twelve or thirteen - but they're all in tune, the _bm bm bm_ and _rat tat tat_ of the drums and the _hwwwwms_ of the trumpets creating the distinct tune of _Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree._ At first it's nice, you know, just nice, and pretty anticlimactic, and Tony's enjoying the songs although he's not altogether impressed.  But then suddenly he sees it. Behind the rows of drummers and trumpeters are huge, glowing floats, the hum of a motor heard faintly from beneath them.  Interspersed between the floats are men and women on horses, singing and waving.

"Wow," he finds himself whispering, and he's straining now, half in the snow, watching the huge floats as they close in from down the street.  They're massive, glittering gold and green and red and blue and purple, and there are _people_ on it, people singing, is this what Disneyland celebrations are like?

All along the street and in the park, people are cheering and hooting, clapping and whistling, and the parade actors are shouting back in their bright flashing costumes.  The streets are bigger here, in this town, probably because there's so much empty land, and so it looks almost like the floats are meandering through a black sea in the empty dark spaces between the edge of the sidewalk and the lights.  

"It's pretty cool, huh?" Bruce says, and he's just as breathless as Tony.  "I mean, it's not out of this world or anything, but...you like it, right?"

"It's _amazing,"_ Tony says honestly, and he's rewarded with the brightest smile he's ever seen from his science buddy.  

"It really is."

"Do you have parades where you live?" Thor asks curiously from beside him, angling towards the two other boys.  "Such as these?"

Tony bites his lip and decides on a shrug.  "Dunno. I don't get out much. Or, well, I do.  But I travel a lot. No time for parades or fairs."

There's a smile on Bruce's face, but it isn't mocking, just teasing.  "Flying to other countries the richer version of parades, then?"

Something twinges in Tony's chest, but to his surprise, it's not as painful as usual.  Instead, he chuckles a little, looks down at the fresh snow lining the ridge in front of the base of the tent edge.  "Yeah. I guess it is."

The floats pass by and Tony scooches out of the tent, ignoring how the snow seeps into his pants.  He's taken by all the colors, so vivid and bright, as clear-cut and brilliant as the snow, and imagines touching them, improving them, transforming them into technological marvels.  It must be so satisfying, to have been a part of this process, to know that your work is the reason for another's joy. He thinks maybe it would feel good to have that pride.

"Who makes all the floats and organizes everything?" he whispers to Bruce.  

The other boy turns to him briefly.  "Well, the town has a committee. It's kind of a team effort from everyone, to be honest.  Most people contribute something, whether it be big or small."

It's a surprisingly heartwarming image.  Tony tries to imagine the people in _his_ neighborhood putting on something like this, all the rich families living in nearly isolated mansions along the Malibu coast, and has to tamp down the inappropriate laughter that threatens to bubble out.  Not that they wouldn't appreciate the holiday spirit, he thinks, but they'd much rather hire professionals to perform for them.

And it's not like hiring experienced performers is a bad thing - he can definitely see the appeal in that as well.  But there's something sweet about Steve's small town, too. Something he isn't really sure how to explain; something that ought to be felt rather than wasted by inadequate description.

As the floats move on by - and by God, there must be at least ten of them, magnificent in its size and delicacy and twinkling with hundreds of Christmas-themed lights - Tony just gazes up, wide-eyed and stunned into immobility.  "Do you see that?" Bruce says, and beside them, Clint, Thor, Natasha, and Bucky all snicker and elbow a blushing Steve. Bruce points and Tony follows his finger to a truck that's following the last float, illuminated by several lights framing its sides.  

"Wow," Tony says, because _wow._

On the side of the truck is a gorgeous painted depiction of a family huddled around a hearth.  There are two boys and a woman sitting there, and the strokes and colors are soft and warm. Immediately, hoots begin to rise up around the tent.

"Sarah and Steve made that," Bruce says, sounding as proud as if he had painted it himself.  "Ms. Rogers is a _fantastic_ artist.  I guess talent just runs in that family."

Tony opens his mouth, closes it.  Stares at the huge oil painting as it continues on by.  "Holy _shit."_

"Yeah."  Bruce's eyes are so happy that it warms Tony just to look at him.   "It's of their family. I mean, Mr. Rogers isn't in it. But it's of their family now.  Sarah used to paint generic images, but after Bucky, she started using the holiday truck paintings as a way to show him he would always be welcome."

Imagine that, Tony thinks.  Dating an artistic blonde beefcake and being so god damn loved that the beefcake's mother actually thinks of you as family.  He can't even muster up enough jealousy, because the image is so fucking wholesome and like he's thought before, who cares if Tony will never have that?  At least that kind of happiness exists, because _really,_ Barnes is a good guy and so is Rogers.  And good people deserve good things.

After another half hour, the parade finally starts to wind down.  The sky has fully darkened during this period, and the dancers and singers tromping after the floats are now all the way down one of the last streets, still twirling and stomping and caroling for the few parade-watchers that have come straggling in in the last few minutes.  "Are we all done eating?" Barton asks, licking an ice cream cone. "'Cause I kinda wanna go on some rides."

"You'll puke if you do that right after dessert," Natasha says mildly.  "You have a weak stomach, remember?"

Clint pouts and pulls up his jacket to reveal a muscled abdomen.  "Aww, Nat, you think?"

"You know what I mean."  Natasha levels the other boy with a look.  "And put your shirt down, unless you want your belly to turn blue from hypothermia."

Rogers shrugs, looking around the circle at everyone.  Sarah's no longer standing next to him; his mother's gone off to find the Carters.  "We haven't had any real food for about an hour or so. If everyone's up for it, I don't think a ride will be too harmful."

"Sure," Bruce and Barnes agree immediately.

"Hell yeah," says Clint, and Natasha rolls her eyes but nods all the same.

"Aye!" booms Thor.

Tony just ducks his head and nods a little.  His opinion probably doesn't matter, but he isn't sure if not agreeing would be a better option anyway.

When he looks up again, Steve's watching him with a little bit of concern, but then the teen turns away, grins and loops his arm through Bucky's.  "Let's go," he says agreeably. "Where to?"

"Carousel!"  Barton takes another bite of his vanilla scoop.  "The flying one though. Like, where all the seats go up."

"Oh, thank God, not the lame kiddy one," Barnes says.

"Asshole, you know I was going to suggest that one next."

"How about you, Stark?" Natasha says suddenly.  "What do you want to do?"  Tony feels the weight of every gaze as everyone turns to him, and his heart starts to pound.  Why that crazy assassin-y redhead keeps doing this - those weird freaky comments that make _all_ the attention go to him - is beyond him.

"Um, carousel, that's fine."  He swallows. "I like...I mean, carousels are fun."

Steve seems to take that as permission to go ahead, and the group heads off toward the ride.  There's already a long line full of tweens at the entrance when they arrive, but it doesn't matter - Barton's pinging all over the place by this rate, hyped up on sugar and the sort of frenzied spirit that's coming from everyone else in the park.  Even though Tony ought to be used to Barton's fluctuating moods by now, it's still a little odd to reconcile the image of the boy who hates Howard Stark's son with this one. This one, who seems to have an endless reserve of energy alongside a love of laughter and corny jokes.  Tony doesn't pretend to think that Barton's had a good home life; you can tell, oftentimes, with a lot of people - the ones who've been roughed up have a certain attitude, a sort of distinct carelessness. And he recalls how Bruce's eyes light up here the way they don't really at school, and realizes that maybe the dislike runs so much more personally - imagine having a special thing, with people you call your family, and having to take care of a stranger instead.  It's not about what Tony's done to one of Barton's best friends, even; it is that he is an intrusion, a blemish on an otherwise spotless surface.

Before he's even realized it, the ride's settled down again and the man at the front unlocks the gate.  "Alright, you all have fun now," the guy says.

"Thanks, Mr. Dugan," Rogers says with a polite smile, and the man - Dugan - claps both Barnes and the blonde on the back.

"Good to see you two."

Tony ends up settled next to Thor on the ride, and he can't help the wild thrill that thrums through his blood when the seats lift up and he feels the pull of his own body release in the air.  Jesus, he _loves_ being in the air - it's like flying, all heady and fierce, the strange feeling of looking down and being untouchable by everyone who stands beneath.  But the best part of being in the air is the weightlessness of his body, the intoxication of something so freeing. Only air between his body and the ground.  In his dreams, the good ones where he doesn't wake up shaking and crying, he always gets to fly.

For a while, they sit in silence, just enjoying the cool night air and smells wafting up from below.  "I am glad that you appear to be enjoying yourself now, Stark," Thor says abruptly a few minutes in from beside him with a kind smile.  The blonde's long hair is flying in the wind, and for some reason it reminds Tony of a big, muscly fairy.

"Oh.  Yeah."  Tony quirks his mouth sheepishly.  He's acting like he did when he was a little kid again, getting all excited over dumb stuff.   _Remember what Dad always said?  Don't be so childish, Tony._ "I just - I don't go to many fairs.  It's nice. This is nice."

"Yes," Thor replies softly, his voice faint under the wind.  "What would you like to do next? A game, perhaps?"

"I dunno."  Tony fidgets in his seat.  The ride's begun to slow down a bit now.  "I like the rides, I guess."

"Aye, I do as well."  

There's something encouraging about Thor, Tony decides, like he's supposed to talk more or something.  Okay, he can do that. He's concluded long ago that the blonde is genuinely friendly, unlike some of the other jocks he's met in the past.  "I guess I just like heights. And the adrenaline rush. I mean, I suppose you can't really find that unless you're at a theme park. But - uh - yeah.  I guess...it's just fun. I know that sounds lame, but…"

"That is most certainly incorrect," Thor proclaims.  "A festival is meant to be enjoyed, yes? Your enjoyment thereby reflects only on how well the festival is doing its job, not whether or not you are 'lame.'"

Okay, sure, Thor talks kinda funny, but in this moment, Tony cannot comprehend how anyone could think that this hulking six foot jock could be anything close to dumb.  Sure, Thor doesn't look like much in terms of the brain department, but when he opens his mouth, he's surprisingly eloquent. Medieval speak and all.

"In conclusion," Thor says as the ride finally lowers them down and slows to a stop, "you are anything _but_ lame, Tony Stark."

-

Tony doesn't know how the guy at the gate let all of them pile into the same damn carriage, but right now everyone's crammed together on the Ferris Wheel and they're traveling upward slowly but steadily.  Barton is basically on top of Barnes's lap, who is sitting across from Tony. Romanoff is squished beside them, and Rogers's huge frame is taking up so much space in the side that it's making Barton howl with laughter.  "Jesus, we're going to break the god damn carriage," Barnes snorts. "What are we, like a thousand pounds?"

"Actually," Bruce says pragmatically as he adjusts his glasses, "since there are seven of us, and we're all most likely over one hundred thirty pounds, you're not actually that off."

"Wouldn't that be a scene," Barton says.  "We'd make the papers for sure. Especially with Stark, 'cause he's famous or whatever.  Hey, Stark, is it fun being famous?"

Barnes is watching him with a funny expression.

"Not...really," Tony says hesitantly.  He isn't sure whether or not Barton's really expecting honesty or not.  "There are some perks?"

Barton cocks his head, but to Tony's surprise, it's Barnes who speaks up.  "Seems tirin' in my opinion. I wouldn't wanna be famous."

He could easily take the comment as an insult, but for some reason, Tony likes Barnes a little more for it.  It's the acknowledgement, he thinks; because it _is_ tiring, being watched all the time, being... _judged_ all the time.  "That seems fair," he says drily, rubbing his palms on his pants to hide the nerves.

The carriage finally reaches the top, and Tony's breath gets caught in his throat as the vastness of space and the night sky hits him.  The stars, twinkling above his head, are cold and beautiful, ethereal in their grace, cruel in their distance.

"We should wish on a star," Barnes suggests softly amidst the quiet.  "My ma used to tell me it would bring good luck."

 _It's interesting,_ Tony reflects.   _How we would wish on something we'll never see up close, or touch.  Things that are so far away._ The thought makes him ache with a warm cold.  

"You okay, Tony?"  It's Bruce, touching his arm gently.  

"Yeah."  The word unsticks from inside his chest, dry and whisper-quiet.  "Bruce?"

"Mm?"  He thinks maybe he can feel Barnes watching still, but the stars have him in their cool grasp, glittering like melted snow.

"Do you believe in that?  Wishing on a star?"

The corner of Bruce's mouth quirks wryly.  "There's no harm in doing it," his science seatmate says, voice quiet but thoughtful.  "I suppose if something comes true, it's better than having not done it at all."

"I think that's just luck."  Tony frowns, looking over the edge of the carriage.  He can see, dimly, people moving beneath them. Even though this town is by no means rich, it's also a haven for cheap living and lots of extra space to be renovated.  

"Sure."  Bruce shrugs.  "But people need something to believe in, don't they?"

"The stars are beautiful," Rogers says suddenly, face open and awed under the moonlight.  "Okay, Buck, I guess I can see what you like so much."

Barnes grins.  "Finally gaining an appreciation for scenery beyond landscape painting, huh?"

Tony leans back and tilts his head up.  When he was a kid, he had asked for glow-in-the-dark stickers to paste on his ceiling one Christmas.  Of course, he'd never gotten them, because his father had decided allowing his son into his workshop for the first time was a better gift.  Granted, entrance into Howard's workshop had been long coveted by a five year old Tony, but he had wished fervently at the time to have gotten some stars too.  

When he was still young and soft from innocence, he used to play a game with his mother.  She was more attentive then; everyone always says that a young child is harder to care for than an older one, but Tony's always thought that the reason why his mother struggled as he grew up is because that's inherently false.  Sure, a little kid is immature, wild, doesn't know boundaries. But it is so very easy to get a kid to love you. To forgive you for your faults, your defects. But then it gets old. No more pretending Santa exists. No more acting like your father's busy; oh no.  He just doesn't have time for you.

Anyway, he remembers they played a game about dividing the world.  His mama told him she read about the idea in a book somewhere, a book translated to Italian by Jandy Nelson back when she had enough energy to read.  "How it goes is there are the stars, the sun, the flowers, the trees, and the ocean. You have half, and I have half. But we can trade them, for favors."  She nudged him, winked.

"What do I get?" Tony had asked, furrowing his brow.  "Can I have the sun an' the stars, Mama?"

"Why the sun and the stars?"  Her smile had been so patient.  He remembers that patience.

"'Cause they're in the sky.  An' I wanna fly when I'm older.  Planes, or a spaceship."

"A spaceship?  Do you want to be an astronaut, mi Antonio?"

"Yeah."  Tony nibbled at his thumbnail.  "I wanna see the stars. Like real stars.  How far away are they?"

"Very far."  Maria took her son into her arms, one of the moments where she would let herself soften completely.  "But you are very special, _bambino mio._ You will reach the stars even when no one else can."

"What're you thinking so hard about?" Bruce says softly, looking at Tony with amusement and jolting the other boy effectively out of his thoughts.  "You have the same look you get in Physics when you're working on a new design."

"Just this game."  The shorter teen feels his face heat up.  

"What game?"

"Uh.  It's, um, this thing about splitting up the world."

"What's this about splitting up the world?"  Barton's looking over at them from where he's half-sprawled over both Barnes and Romanoff.  The carriage shifts over a little, but it's still at the very top.

"My mom...she used to, uh, play this game where we split up the world between each other."  Tony shifts so that he's sitting on top of his trembling hands. His fingers, they must be cold.  "It was the sun, the flowers, the trees, the ocean, and the stars."

"What did you take?" Bruce asks curiously.

"Sun and stars."  Tony fidgets. "My mom was willing to give me three so that I'd have one more than her, but all I wanted was the sun and the stars."

"I think I would've liked the sun and the flowers," Rogers says thoughtfully.  The carriage begins to cycle around again.

"I would've taken the sun and the stars."  That's Barnes, who's gazing up at the night sky.  "Or maybe just the stars. I think that would've been worth it."

"Trees," Barton interrupts.  

"Ocean," Bruce adds.  "Personally. Imagine all the undiscovered creatures that live down there.  I thought you would have been interested in that, Tony."

That's true, truer than Tony would like to admit.  As a creator by nature, he is fascinated by the unknown, of all the things that can and will one day be discovered or invented.  But what he can't say is that he can't handle large bodies of water anymore. Not after the Ten Rings, anyway. After that, water became a taboo.  

In the earliest days, he couldn't even handle a god damn shower.

"I wanted the sun and the stars the most."  He lifts a shoulder. "I was a kid. The ocean was just another word for 'beach' to me at that age."

"How about you, Nat?  Thor?" Rogers asks.

Natasha shrugs, examines her fingernails.  "Flowers. Stars."

"Lightning and mountains," Thor says calmly.  "I would give you all the five that Stark mentioned for such an exchange."

"Thor, buddy, that's not how it works."  Barton curls his arm around Barnes's neck and snuggles his feet under Natasha's thighs.  

"I don't see why not," Thor argues, frowning.  "There are endless beauties in the world to choose from so that we all may partake equally."  

The carriage finally reaches the bottom of the Ferris Wheel, and the guy at the gate leans over to look at them.  "Hey," he says, chuckling a little. "There's hardly any line. Want another ride?"

"Nah, I'm getting off," Barton says.  "Gonna get more ice cream."

Rogers looks around the carriage, ever the mediator.  "Everyone okay with that?"

Tony surprises himself by saying, "I think I might, uh, stay on.  Just for one more cycle."

He's even more surprised when Barnes gives him a discerning look and then adds, "Me, too.  This is my favorite ride."

"Alright, then," Rogers says, sounding faintly startled.  "Okay, um - if you and Buck are okay with that. Then I guess we'll just meet you in a few back at the tent where we left it."

"Alright," Barnes says casually.  "We'll see you guys later."

As soon as the others have left - all looking almost suspiciously between both Tony and Barnes - the ride monitor shuts the carriage door and cranks up the Wheel again, sending them back around.  Without everyone else to crowd him, Tony's a little bit more relieved - but also, the awkwardness between he and Barnes is now heavy in the silence.

"So."  When Tony looks over, Barnes is stiff, staring out over the edge of the carriage.  "Why'd you want to ride again?"

"It's peaceful."  Tony bites his lip.  "I guess I just like the idea of being up high."

"Yeah," Barnes says gruffly.  He chances a look at the shorter boy.  "Away from all the problems, right?"

Tony nods shortly.  It seems like with every step he takes with Barnes, he takes two back.  He has no idea where they're at, what they're doing, only that Barnes has already seen him at his worst - _twice -_ and yet he still barely knows anything about the boy with the silver arm beside a rough backstory.

Barnes sighs, but it sounds like one of contentment rather than the exasperation Tony would normally expect.  "The stars feel a lot closer from up here, don't they."

Tony finds himself shaking his head.  "Nah," he disagrees. "Farther. When I'm up here, it's like...I realize how far away I am from the ground, and yet...I'm nowhere closer to the stars than I was before."

Barnes tilts his head, grey eyes on the other boy now instead of into the vast space beyond their carriage.  "But it's kinda comforting. At least the universe isn't some big black empty space full of nothin'."

Tony eases back into his seat.  It feels so solitary up here, as if he and Barnes have hollowed out a space of their own that exists apart from everything else.  "Guess I never thought about it that way."

Barnes tilts his head.  "Powdered doughnut."

It takes Tony a second to grasp onto the change of subject.  "What?"

"Powdered doughnut."  Barnes motions upwards.  "That's what I imagine the sky looked like, thousands of years ago, before we invented pollution and fucked the whole atmosphere up."

Tony looks away, his heart a strange hum inside his chest, but smiles a little.  "Spilled sugar."

"A sea at night reflecting scattered light from a search helicopter."

"That's a good one," Tony says softly.  The carriage rocks a little as it begins its descent.  "Black and white Jackson Pollock."

"Eh, it was a mouthful," Barnes says.  "A white disco ball spinning lights around a club."

"Rain passing down in front of headlights.  When the lights reflect through the drops."

"A slow song during a concert, when everyone takes out their phones and turns on the flashlight."

Tony feels his seat careening gently beneath him; they've slowed to a stop halfway down.  Barnes is fidgeting, tugging his sweater sleeve further over his glove. It's his left arm - the metal one, probably.  "Have you been to a concert?"

"'Course."  Barnes runs a hand through his long, dark locks absentmindedly.  "I mean, they're expensive, but I've been before. You probably have, right?"

"I - um.  No." Tony swallows.  "I haven't." He doesn't know why, but he feels the strong need to defend himself.  "It's not that I don't want to, it's just, I never have the time, traveling and all…"

Barnes must see something in his face, because he opens his mouth, closes it, and then says, "You aren't missin' much, Stark.  They're not all that fun. Can't even hear the singer over the sound of drunk college students screamin' incorrect lyrics in your ear."

Tony huffs a laugh.  "I suppose all the bands I like are from the 70s.  Wouldn't find concerts with them anyway."

Barnes regards him with new interest.  "Fan of old music? Couldn't have pegged you as that, to be honest.  Dunno what I would have assumed."

Tony shrugs, looks back up at the stars.  "AC/DC, Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins. Metallica's okay.  I like classical music too. I, uh, I can get into MGMT sometimes."

Barnes nods thoughtfully.  "Grunge, rock. Fair enough.  I like Flora Cash and Saint Motel now, but I was a die-hard Swiftie when she was still in her country phase."

Tony can't tamp down the snort - Jesus.  Early 2000s Taylor Swift. _Bucky Barnes,_ with that brooding look and metal arm and scary friends like Romanoff.  A thought crosses his mind briefly - what was Barnes like, before he lost his arm?  The same? Different?  Kept the same music taste, or did it change? - before being forced to the background.

"I can see it," he teases quietly.  The almost unreal quality of the night's made him braver, looser.  He's still got a few twenties left in his pocket. "Think it might be the hair."

Barnes smirks, and like that - open, amused - he looks like he's talking to a friend.  "Makes sense. Thor never even got out of his Swiftie phase, and his hair could beat a Disney princess's."

"And here I thought he'd go for someone more Joan of Arc," Tony says dryly, "time period and all."

Barnes lets out a bright, surprised laugh.  "Well, I guess none of us can go t' concerts at all then.  Our favorites are all dead."

"Hey."  The guy from earlier raps his knuckles against the edge of the carriage, and Tony realizes with a half-stifled flinch that in the time that he's been talking to Barnes, the Ferris Wheel's brought them back down to the landing again.  "Sorry, man, but ride's up this time. Line got longer."

Sure enough, there are tons of kids and couples clamoring for the spot now.

"Thanks," Barnes tells the guy as both he and Tony get out.  "For the extra ride, too."

"Yeah, no biggie!" the monitor calls back as the two teens exit.

"So, ice cream."  Barnes shakes his head as he leads the way back to the tent.  "If Stevie didn't get me my own cone, I'll just steal his."

Tony keeps his eyes trained on the ground, but even he can hear the gentle and fond tone framing Barnes's words.  In his mind's eye, he sees the other boy laughing as he playfully nabs a bite of Rogers's ice cream.

The rest of the walk back to the tent is mostly silent, except for the occasional comment from Barnes about a good smell or interesting game.  Tony can already feel them reverting back to whatever it is they were before the Ferris Wheel, but he isn't quite sure what he even means by that.  He so badly wants to both scrub the memories of the previous days from his mind, but he also wants to grab Barnes by the shoulder and pull him aside and ask him if he remembers as vividly too.  What he really thinks about Tony, if he even thinks anything about him at all. The wound is a mix of raw and old, as if everything that has happened thus far has been part of some disconcerting dream.  

Honestly, Tony rarely feels present and tied down throughout each day.  For all of his genius IQ, he struggles remembering what he ate yesterday for breakfast even when he thinks hard, and things he's seen only seconds before feel faded, like something already converted to distant memory.  In that sense, everything strikes him as some sort of lingering dream. It is not so hard to imagine that this could all be a dream as well.

The sky's given the town a brief reprieve - it is hardly snowing anymore, just the odd bit of fluff drifting down here and there.  Covertly, Tony manages to catch a snowflake on the tip of his tongue and folds the ice into his mouth, letting it melt there. His footsteps leave imprints that cross-etch the hollows others have made before him in the dirt and snow, impressions overlapping impressions - there is something uniquely fascinating about walking in an old place on old land, touched already by other people.  And it is fascinating vice versa, too, when the snowfall is hard and white blankets everywhere like it did yesterday, and he can be the first person to have ever touched it. Leaving an impernament mark without lasting consequence.

"Hey."  Bucky's stopped at a booth, and his gaze wavers like he isn't quite sure how to go about things.  "Do you mind if I look at this for a bit?"

Tony jolts himself out of his reverie, realizing Barnes is in front of a little stand filled with movies and record player discs.  And that he's _asking_ him permission.  "Uh - go ahead."

He joins Barnes's side to look through the movie section.  They're all in locked plastic cases, and there are selections like Men In Black and even some Sandler comedies.  But Barnes is all the way in the oldies section, labeled "1940s". Tony is pretty sure people from the 40s didn't have CDs, let alone a TV with color, so these must have all been converted.

Barnes catches him looking and his mouth twitches up briefly.  "I like old movies, like Stevie. Anythin' old, or a romance or comedy or action or somethin'."

"I like scifi," Tony says softly.  He scrunches his brow. "Only the accurate ones, though.  I also like fantasy, even though I don't believe in that kind of thing."

"Magic?" Barnes says, amusedly.  "No ghosts, or messages from the ether, or anything?"

Tony runs a finger over the delicate spines of the covers.  "I get the feeling that if someone wanted to tell me something, they wouldn't have waited so long."

Barnes cracks a smile.  "What if it's just not the right moment?  What if aliens invaded? Y' never know."

It's just nice enough that Tony feels brave enough to roll his eyes.  "Let me know when E.T. phones home."

"It's a wonderful life," Barnes says suddenly.

"I'm glad you're happy," Tony says awkwardly, his voice raising in pitch in his confusion.  Okay, well, it's great, that Barnes thinks his life is wonderful. But it's kind of an abrupt change in topic, and -

"No," the other boy says, voice a little raspy.  His eyes are a little glassy as they flick up towards Tony.  "I used to watch this movie all the time with my parents.  Before." He holds the case up, and sure enough, the title scrawled across its front reads _It's A Wonderful Life._ Tony's definitely heard of it before - it's a black-and-white film, he thinks - but he's never seen it.

"It's a good holiday movie," Barnes says, placing the movie gently back in its place.  "Should watch it if you haven't, Stark."

"Are you not going to buy it?" Tony asks curiously.  He knows he's pushing the line a little bit here, invading in Barnes's carefully crafted privacy, but he _saw_ the look on the other teen's face when the guy picked up the movie, and that was the expression of someone who _wants._

"Nah."  Barnes shakes his head, withdraws the metal arm that's covered by a sweater sleeve.  "Just reminds me of the past. No point. And I left all my money with Steve, anyway."

"I could pay for it," Tony offers slowly.  He doesn't doubt for a second that this could be very easily taken the wrong way - he's heard the famous _Stop trying to buy friendship, Stark!_ way too many times to relax - but also, sitting on the steps of the porch that night comes back clear-cut in his mind.  Of Barnes, sitting there, talking about both parents dead. Casually, flippantly, like he was over it. And Tony's come to learn over the years that things like that, things that hurt that bad, can fade.  But no one ever really gets over it.

"It's fine, Stark."  Barnes won't look at him.  "I'm gonna look at the music for a bit.  Buy if you see somethin' you like."

After Barnes has moved away to the other stands, the top of his dark head hovering over the small shelves set on the little tables, Tony doesn't even think about it before he's plucking _It's A Wonderful Life_ back out of its spot and putting it under his arm.  He peruses the movies a little more, but there isn't really anything that's piqued his interest.  So, after a bit, he goes to the cash register that's cushioned on the side of the tent. Barnes is still behind one of the music shelves and hasn't appeared to move since Tony last looked up, so he quickly pulls a twenty out of his pocket and shoves it into the cashier's hand.

"Thank you, sweetie."  It's a blonde woman who looks around her mid-thirties.  "It's only a dollar. Anything else?"

"Um, no - "  Tony's eye catches on a woven basket sitting next to the register.  It's the standard basket that's full of random trinkets, as there is wont to be in any store or marketplace.  And there's a four-pack of grey, black, white, and pink scrunchies sitting in it. "Actually," he says before he can even consider what in the _hell_ he's doing, "I'll take these too."  

The voice unheeded by social anxiety, insecurity, and the variety of other issues that he has says, _Okay, Tony, you've already recognized that Barnes's current hair ties are boring as shit.  You're doing him a favor.  And Barnes will laugh._

The other part of his brain screams, _You fucking idiot.  Dad was right, you can't do anything right.  You think Barnes is going to somehow_ like _you more just because you're thinking of maybe giving him a movie that reminds him of his dead parents and hair ties that come off like you're making fun of him?  You can't buy friendship, Tony, you would think you would have learned that by now._

"Alright, a dollar sixty five is the cost," the woman on the other side says - _Amanda,_ that's what her name tag says - giving him a warm smile as she transfers the change.  "Would you like a bag?"

Okay, whatever.  Christmas is still days away.  He doesn't have to give this to Barnes or anything.  It's a dumb gift anyway. Maybe he can bring it home and watch it himself.  He'll just find something else. Or something. He kind of owes Barnes, to be honest.  It's not buying friendship if he's just repaying the guy, right?

After he's gotten his purchases safely in a bag, he steps behind the shelf where Barnes is.  "Bought some stuff," he says casually, pretending like he hasn't just made a really dumb and careless decision. "Do you - I got back a lot of change."

"Nah."  Barnes gestures out at the rest of the festival.  "We should probably get back." However, Tony doesn't miss the way his eyes flit to the movie stand for a second, gaze almost wistful.  How Barnes runs a hand over his left shoulder briefly, like something there is aching.

"Yeah."  The bag in Tony's hand makes a rustling noise as he shifts his grip.  "They're, um, probably waiting."

The rest of the walk back is quiet.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while i wrote this, i was thinking about the sunset i watched on friday (during my soccer game lol). it was like god had scrawled himself thick and hot into the sky. it was beautiful and unashamed and burning. // to anyone who celebrates christmas (because i do), are you excited? and to the general populace, are you excited about winter break? yesterday was my last day of school, so that feels amazing :)  
> -  
> deciding if i will make our blonde lady amanda an important plot point later on or not. hint: her last name starts with a c (yes, her first name is canon) // also my music taste is reflected in this chapter. i'm currently obsessed with "you're somebody else" by flora cash, "cold cold man" by saint motel, and "superposition" by young the giant. but i also enjoy some ac/dc songs + nirvana & mgmt & smashing pumpkins and i like (classical) piano!  
> -  
> also yes, the "splitting up the world" idea was something jude and noah did between themselves in "i'll give you the sun" by jandy nelson. it's one of my favorite books ever, and i read a lot. it's kind of confusing in the beginning just because noah's a unique character and it takes some time to get used to his thoughts, but you won't regret reading it. btw if i could only have 2, i'd take the stars and the ocean lol (my favorite thing is sunsets and sunrises but in terms of what i would be able to take as my own, i would only choose sun as third option)


	19. names to call people by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony talks some MORE with barnes because, plot. tony braids natasha's hair. everyone meets sharon's friend...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi yall so im okay, im not dead, sorry for worrying u :') i have finals next week and honestly i am just so terrible at updating. i hope it helps that many of my recent chapters have been around 5k words instead of my typical 1k  
> the obligatory comment responses:  
> @arabellagalleoti: you don't know HOW HAPPY IT MAKES ME that you are reading i'll give you the sun and seem to like it. i am so warm inside right now!!  
> @"lilly": all i have to say is...your english is impressive as hell  
> @creatorofthemind: 1. your comment made me laugh out loud. 2. oops i don't think you have enough eyeballs for how many stink eyes you should be giving me at this point ahaha  
> @"raindrxpsonrxses" + aryiakirby: wow, not one but TWO proposals? can i just marry you both, i think two rings wld look trendy  
> @aryiakirby (again): that comment about nostalgia...wow. poet much  
> @other commentators: you guys are SO NICE HOW (as screamed about before on a/n). i wish i could point you all out but alas, just know that i remember your usernames and i notice you and i am so grateful for your overall beautiful existences. you guys really brighten up my day when i'm sitting, dying, in ap us history and i just get an email notif and i try not to smile because we're learning about new world colonization and a lot of that really wasn't pretty

 

 

 

_"there is something at the bottom of every new human thought, every thought of genius, or even every earnest thought that springs up in any brain, which can never be communicated to others, even if one were to wrie volumes about it and were explaining one's idea for thirty-five years; there's something left which cannot be induced to emerge from your brain, and remains with you forever; and with it you will die, without communicating to anyone perhaps the most important of your ideas."_

\- fyodor dostoyevsky,  _the idiot_

 

**19.**

Tony can't sleep, and he can't sleep because he's busy thinking of his mother.  Maria Carbonell, not "née" anything because she decided to keep her maiden name, even if everyone calls her Mrs. Stark.  And to Tony, she isn't Maria at all. She's just Mom. _Mama._

He rolls over underneath the bed sheet so that he's facing the ceiling, and sighs.  It must be one am, two even, by now. There's an odd lump beneath his pillow that he can feel through the stuffing - it's the gifts he bought impulsively for Barnes earlier, the hair ties and that old movie, the ones he'll probably never give the other boy.  Huh, maybe Pep can use the ties. And Rhodey, Rhodey loves cheesy happy endings, and _It's A Wonderful Life_ certainly sounds happy enough.

Why did he buy Barnes gifts?  The question's been haunting him for hours, and yet he still doesn't have any answers.  Okay, so maybe he has a bad case of impulsivity, but…

He doesn't know why it's bothering him so much.  

Actually, he does, but he doesn't want to think about it.

Tony grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes and wills himself to go to sleep, even though it feels like ages since he first laid down on the bedroom floor.  He misses his mom so much it curdles inside him, which is strange because usually he feels glad to be out of that pristine, empty house. But no - tonight it's bad, the kind of bad he hasn't felt since he first went off to boarding school at the age of eight.  He misses her delicate piano, her lilting voice, the way she seems to speak more affectionately when she switches out of English and into Italian. Italian, he thinks, makes everything softer. Perhaps if Howard had grown up speaking his wife's language, his insults wouldn't have seemed so cold.

Tony stifles a scoff to himself as he imagines what his dad would say about the gifts under his pillow.  The thing about being told something so many times is that it becomes second nature - you believe it, you parrot it, you can't help but remember it.  Howard, he knows, would've told him you can't buy friends. That some second-rate gifts might make Barnes happy, but it wouldn't make the guy like him.

Tony swallows.  The ceiling is so dark now, has been dark for such a long time.  Maybe he's not even awake anymore, and he's just dreaming.

The thing is - the thing is - _is_ he doing this to be liked?  After everything he's done, he can no longer read the intent behind his own actions.  Everything's confusing all the time - maybe he _did_ mean to break Barnes's prosthetic.  Maybe Company _was_ just a heap of junk.  Maybe everything thus far has happened because he started it, but didn't know, because his social awareness is shit.  

Suddenly, there's a low murmur, and Tony snaps to awareness - but it's only Thor, mumbling in his sleep as he rolls over to face Tony.  Sighing again, he sits up and allows the thin blanket to fall from his shoulders as he runs a hand through his hair. He can't do this - can't do this sleeping with strangers and pretending like he's okay and besides, he doesn't even remember the last time his sleep schedule wasn't fucked anyway.  Maybe he should go outside again. Out on the porch, where Barnes came out and told him about losing his arm.

He glances to the side, and a dark shape is propped up on their elbow, watching him.

"Can't sleep either?"  Barnes's voice is twined with roughness, as if his voice is adjusting after being silent for hours in the dark.  

Tony shakes his head, studies the outline of the other boy from across the room.  "I don't sleep much."

"Nightmares?"

And there's the question.  "Yeah," Tony says finally. "I mean - I don't sleep much in general, since I lose track when I'm building something sometimes.  But. Yeah."

The shape of Barnes's frown is barely discernible in the dim room when he cocks his head.  "We could go downstairs. It's too cold outside right now, and I don't wanna wake anybody up."

"Downstairs?"  Tony has to stifle the surprise.  "To - I mean - "

"Look," Barnes sighs, "it's not like either of us are gonna get to sleep anytime soon.  Might as well do somethin' to pass the time." He throws his blanket off his lap. "You comin'?"

The house is dark as they make their way downstairs, and it's almost fascinating at how easily Barnes navigates the rickety stairwell and narrow hallways while Tony trips along in the shadows.  If he didn't know better, he'd think that Barnes lived here, or grew up here, or something. But he's probably just familiar because he's bound to have spent a lot of time with his boyfriend anyway.

Barnes stops in the kitchen and grabs a Coke from the fridge.  He offers a Sprite to Tony, who accepts it tentatively. "So," Barnes says finally, sitting down at the table.  The moonlight casts his face in shadow, illuminating his outline like a hazy aura.

"So," Tony parrots, sitting down slowly.  Oh, _God,_ this is awkward.  What was he even thinking, agreeing to coming down here with Barnes like this?  This week has honestly been filled with the most difficult social interactions he's ever encountered, and that includes his experiences with those asshole businessmen Howard likes to affiliate himself with and people like Hammer and Stone.

Barnes cracks his can open and it hisses, too loud in the stilted silence.  "This is a crappy thing to bring up, but I can't...just, you don't have to answer this, but how'd you…"  He motions to his chest. "Stark?"

Tony stiffens.  Is this why Barnes invited him down here?  To get more fuel for gossip?

Barnes must notice the tenseness in his expression, because he sags a little in the chair, fingers clenching around his soda.  "Sorry," he says, shaking his head. "Shit, that was real dumb of me to ask. I guess I just can't forget about - about when I walked into the bathroom like an idiot.  I haven't properly apologized for that, either. I want to, though."

"It was an accident.  In the past." Tony looks away.  "I thought we were done with this."

"Yeah," Barnes says, and it comes out as an exhale.  "Yeah, we were. Are. I just - I kinda like to think I get it, sorta.  If you need to - hell, if you need to rant, I don't mind. Believe me when I say I did plenty of that to Steve when I first woke up with one arm."

Tony smiles, and it's more bitter than he means it to be.  "This," he says, motioning to the area where the scars hide underneath his shirt, "this is in the past too."  

"We're both kind of messed up, aren't we," Barnes says, and that startles a surprised laugh out of Tony.  

"That's one way of putting it."

"I'm kinda sick of all these apologies," Barnes says slowly after a while.  "I know tellin' you I'm sorry won't make anything better. And you tellin' me sorry doesn't make me feel any better about what I did too.  I think maybe we could try to be friends, or at least acquaintances, or somethin'. You're stayin' here at least till Christmas, anyway." He shrugs, but Tony can see this bleak sort of anxiety lining his shoulders and mouth.  "I'm James Buchanan Barnes, but you can call me Bucky." He sticks a hand out across the table. "I'm gonna try to treat you right, because I'm not proud enough to argue that I wasn't wrong about a few things. I'll admit that I don't know much about you.  I know your family from the news, and - well" - he laughs wryly - "because we both tried to beat each other up. But I guess I don't really know you, Stark, and I'd like t' change that."

Throughout his whole proposal, Tony's been sinking into a perilous sort of emotion - not quite happiness, not quite hopefulness, not quite anxiety, but perhaps a bit of all three.  He takes the proffered hand after a second, and Barnes's palm is warm and rough in his. "I'm Anthony Edward Stark," he says, and falters. _It's okay,_ he tells himself.  He can sense no dishonesty or false kindness in Barnes's words.  "Uh, if you want you can call me Tony."

"Tony it is," Barnes - _Bucky -_ says, and offers him a brilliant smile.  "If you're still feelin' awake like I am, we could watch TV on low volume if you want.  Steve doesn't have Hulu or anything and I dunno what's on, but we can look."

"...Okay," Tony agrees slowly as he trails after the other boy and into the living room.  "Maybe a rerun is on. Of SNL, or something."

Bucky flashes him a grin.  "SNL sounds good. I'll try to find it."

They each settle down on opposite ends of the couch.  Tony curls up against the thick armrest, tucking his feet in close to his body while Barnes sprawls out on the adjoining cushion.  "Okay," the other boy says finally as he picks up the remote and starts clicking through channels. "Let's see what we got here."

Tony tongues the back of his teeth as he averts his eyes, trying not to get caught watching like a creeper.  He knots his hands in his lap as the screen flashes in a myriad of colors.

"Sorry, can't find it," Barnes says finally.  "But we could watch a movie, 'f you want. There's this - I dunno - rom com playin' right now?  Called 'Message In A Bottle.' Dunno what it is, but it just started, I think."

Tony glances up to see the head of a pretty blonde woman filling the whole television screen.  "Uh - sure. Yeah. That's, um, never heard of it either, but okay."

"You a romance fan by any chance?" Barnes asks as he settles back more comfortably against the back of the couch.  It's a casual enough question that Tony risks looking over, and he's greeted with the sight of light glinting off metal and a sharp jawline framed by locks of long, wavy hair.

"I don't watch movies much," Tony says honestly.  "I like - documentaries, I guess. It's kind of weird, but anything about marine life, animals...it calms me down."

Bucky smiles a little.  They're not really paying attention to what's happening onscreen, Tony thinks.  "Yeah, there's somethin' nice about wildlife in general, huh?"

For the next forty minutes, they sit without talking, content to watch the movie (it's a Nicholas Sparks novel, apparently, and the kind of outrageously cheesy that Rhodey would probably enjoy) in silence.  Tony finally feels his eyelids drooping as he struggles to keep watching the blonde lady and the old guy kiss onscreen.

"Isn't he like, twenty years older than her?" Bucky says, wrinkling his nose.  "Not that there's anythin' wrong with fallin' in love with an older man, but 's it just me or is she kinda...rushin' things?"

"Not just you," Tony says, frowning thoughtfully.  "Pep's always telling me about how unfair it is that pretty young women are paired with old guys in movies."

"Pep?" Bucky asks with interest, even as his eyes stay glued to the screen.  "Friend of yours?"

"Yeah, the best."  Tony allows himself to smile at the thought of his friend, fierce with her red hair and ability to take no bullshit.  Barnes - Bucky - would definitely like her if she were here, _everyone_ would, and he can't stop the sudden wave of loneliness that comes from being here without the women in his life present.  

Bucky looks up suddenly, and his next words come out of left field.  "I never said sorry for callin' that blonde a slut. I know I said we could drop it, an' all that, but she probably didn't deserve it and you were tryin' to defend her.  So that part is on me."

"Her name is Becky," Tony says quietly.  "I can't - won't - deny that she, slept around.  That I slept with her. That our crowd doesn't have the best reputation.  But Becky's different. She's kind and cares, genuinely, and she - she understood me.  More than most people, maybe, and we were - supposed to only be like friends with benefits."

"Well, when we go back t' SHIELD, I'd like to apologize."  Barnes runs a hand along his metal arm; it looks like an unconscious action that's more habitual than gestural.  He must see something in Tony's face, because an unusually vulnerable expression flits across him for a second before it disappears.  "Unless that's not - St - Tony - are you okay?"

"She left," Tony chokes out.   _So much for watching 'Message in a Bottle,'"_ he thinks to himself, and wants to both laugh and cry.  "Um. She's enrolled at HYDRA Academy now. So. I can pass along a message, maybe, but she won't be at SHIELD ever again."

There's a beat of silence.  "I'm sorry," Bucky says quietly.  "That she left. I think that the message apology thing sounds good, and I'd like to say a proper one later."

"Thank you," Tony whispers, and he's not sure if he's thanking him for apologizing, or everything at once.

"The Ferris Wheel ride," Barnes murmurs, almost as an afterthought, quiet like he's talking to himself rather than to Tony.  "Was nice."

The movie's reaching its climax now, and Tony makes a halfhearted sound of agreement as he tips his head back against the sofa.  He notices that Barnes - Bucky - is slouching down now too, but his vision's blurring and looping. _'M jus' gonna close my eyes for one sec,_ he thinks through the fog, and blinks sluggishly.  He'll get up in another twenty minutes, give or take a few, and then he'll wake Bucky or whatever and they'll head back upstairs to sleep properly in their bags.

 _Just one sec._ He closes his eyes, and within a minute - to the low hum of people talking onscreen and snow falling on the rooftop - he's asleep.

-

Tony wakes to the sound of a bunch of people talking near him.

His first instinct is to pry open his eyes, which still sag tiredly, but he keeps them closed and waits.

"...were you doing?" someone says, and oh, that's Barton's voice.  "We came down and, bam. We're hit with _this."_

"Toldja already, nothing," someone else replies - Bucky.  His voice is irritable, like he's repeated himself too many times.  

"You guys were literally sleeping on the same couch with the TV playing," Barton says skeptically.  "No harm, no foul, obviously, we just want to know what's going on."

"What does it look like we did?" Bucky snaps.  "He couldn't sleep, I couldn't sleep, I invited him downstairs to watch a movie because there's no point in lyin' around in the dark till the sun comes up."

"Okay, sorry," Barton says, and his tone's turned placating.  There's the sound of someone moving. "I'm being an asshole. I'll drop it."

 _"Thank_ you," Bucky says gruffly, but Tony can tell just by the tone of his voice that the archer's already been forgiven.  "Now can we go get breakfast? Don't even pretend you aren't hungry, Stevie, 'cause I can hear your stomach growlin' from here."

"Should we wake him?"  That's Thor, sounding curious.

"No," Bucky replies, and there's the sound of people moving again.  "Let him sleep. C'mon." The noise fades as everyone walks away.

Tony finally allows himself to crack open his eyes and scrubs the sore grit from them.  He's sprawled out on the couch, somehow having slumped down onto the arm rest in his sleep, and there's a thin blue blanket covering him.  Someone must've put it there, he realizes, and feels equal parts warm and anxious at the revelation. Who, though? is the real question.

He lies there for awhile, listening to the sound of plates clinking and voices murmuring.  He hears his name threaded throughout the faint conversation once or twice, but he can't discern who's talking or what they might be saying.  It's so strange, actually, how lazy he's gotten since he came to Rogers's place. Now he's sleeping all the time, sleeping _in,_ getting up late, going to sleep when he's tired rather than when he _should_ be.  He can't even remember a time when he gave in so completely to the exhaustion.

Finally, he decides to get up and eat some breakfast before it's all gone and he has to eat alone.  In the kitchen, everyone hushes as he comes in, but surprisingly enough, it's Romanoff - with her hair pulled up into a messy red bun - who kicks Barton out of his seat and motions to the now-empty chair, green eyes intent.

"Stark."  She pats the seat of the chair.  "Sit."

Tony is wise enough not to say anything as he obeys her command.  He's either passed or failed her test spectacularly, and he really can't tell which one yet.  No doubt that girl eats boys for dinner.

"Do you know how to braid hair?" Natasha says archly, turning to him as everyone slowly returns to their conversations.

"Sort of."  His mother taught him to braid hair when he was still small enough to sit on her lap.  They'd do it in front of the mirror, and Tony had always been good at it - his fingers had been made for delicacy, for crisp, detailed work.  He sneaks a look at the redhead, as if he'd be able to read that scarily impassive face.

"Okay," Natasha says, and scoots closer to him.

"Uh," Tony says intelligently.

The girl sighs.  "Braids, Stark. I hate doing them myself and I like it when people do my hair."

"Okay…," Tony says, because it's like every time he talks to Natasha Romanoff, he gets freaked out.  Does she do this to him on purpose? "What do you want?"

"Do what you think will look good," Romanoff says, and hands him a comb she got from - he has no idea.

Tony scoots forward after some hesitation and gently parts her hair evenly on either side of her head.  He takes the first bundle of hair, careful to avoid touching her face, and begins braiding. He's thinking a layered five strand waterfall because done right, it'll look like a crown.  

He quickly loses himself in the task - the overlapping of each section, the ridges of each braid.  Natasha sits still and poised the entire time, her eyes on his fingers as he works - brushing her hair behind her ear, gently finger-combing through each strand.  

He's halfway done with her head when Natasha puts a hand on his wrist.  "You really know what you're doing, don't you, Stark."

"Well - yeah," Tony says, fumbling to hold his place after he's done being startled.  "My, uh, my mother taught me how to braid when I was younger. Used to joke that whomever I eventually ended up with would appreciate it.  And I wouldn't have agreed to do your hair if I didn't."

Romanoff merely hums in response.  What does she think, that he'd just - act like he knew what he was doing to show off, or something?  "Did you ever braid hers?" Her voice is unusual, gentle. Completely free of any acts, any ploys to make herself sound genuine or soft.  One thing Tony's learned from just the way Natasha moves, all silent and fluid and deadly, is that whatever she is, she is not soft. But she is more real now, for some reason, even though Tony couldn't possibly know how Romanoff acts when she's being wholly herself.

Tony shrugs.  "Sometimes. She likes it when people touch her hair.  It's not like my dad or the maids were ever going to do that instead anyway."  Natasha has this _look_ again, and he fidgets a little.  "Um - do you want me to - do you like it?  I mean, you can't really see what I've done, but does it feel good?  Do you want me to stop?"

"Keep going."  Natasha's eyes soften, and although it looks like she's making a physical effort to warm up her expression, he doesn't think it's meant to be manipulative or malicious.  "Do you know how hard it is to find a boy who's gentle with his hands? Clint can make a horse love him with his hands alone, but as soon as I ask him to help me with my hair, he's literally ripping all my roots out of my scalp."  She rolls her eyes. "I've even tried Steve before, you know. He's an artist, so you'd think he'd be better at it, but apparently the sports side of him comes out when he's faced with a girl."

Tony smiles a little.  "'Oh, that gentleness. How far more potent it is than force.'"

Romanoff looks over at him sharply, new interest glittering in her eyes.  "What was that, Stark?"

 _Jane Eyre_ is one of his mother's favorite books; it is one of the only novels she refuses to read in anything but Italian.  "'I must, then, repeat continually that we are forever sundered - and yet, while I breathe and think, I must love him.'"

 _"Jane Eyre,"_ Natasha says like it's a revelation.  "You've read that?"

"My mother used to read it to me," Tony says, shrugging.  "You tend to pick up some quotes after awhile. I, uh, you recognized it."  He phrases his last sentence like a question.

"Nat's a fan of classics, especially the ones with cool women."  Barnes - _Bucky -_ has suddenly appeared next to them with a smirk on his face.  "Don't worry, Tony, the more you get to know her, the more obvious it is."  

Romanoff chooses to ignore the rest of the sentence and instead tilts her head as she hones down on a single part of Bucky's spiel: "Tony?"

"We've both apologized and forgiven each other," Bucky says without missing a beat, his gaze unwavering as he locks eyes with the redhead.  "He's gonna call me Bucky now, and I get t' call him Tony." They seem to have a quick, silent exchange before Bucky's smirk returns. " Jealous?"

"Not really," the girl replies, deadpan, and turns to Tony.  "You can call me Natasha now, you know, Stark."

The brunette swallows, caught off-guard by the sudden turn of conversation.  "Um, you can call me whatever you want."

"That's not fair," Bucky interjects as Natasha waves for Tony to continue her hair.  "You can't just be all intimidatin' to get what you want."

"I wasn't being intimidating.  Was I being intimidating, Tony?"

"I don't know if I can answer that," Tony says carefully, looking between the two of them.  Bucky is staring at Natasha incredulously, and Natasha has this small smile on her lips like she knows something that they don't.  

"That means 'yes', just sayin'."

The pair starts bickering for the next few minutes, and at one point, they switch into what is probably Russian.  It's a language Tony can't speak, and he's, like, multilingual or pentalingual or a polyglot or whatever you'd like to call it.  So instead, he listens to their voices. It's strange, because he thought Russian was a little guttural in a way, like how the Russian businessmen Howard's affiliated with talk in their accented English.  But Natasha and Bucky speak like they are soft, as if their tongues are thick and their language is shaped around it. It's pretty sounding, and he would say so if he weren't so uncharacteristically awkward and shy around them.

Finally, he's finished, and he gently checks each braid by skimming a light knuckle over them to make sure each hair is neatly tucked in and there's no unevenness.  Natasha notices and pulls out of her conversation with Bucky. "Is it finished?"

Tony nods.  He has no words to speak, because suddenly he's afraid - so very afraid that she's going to hate what he's done.  Maybe she doesn't like waterfalls? But she told him to do whatever he thought would look good, right? Does it even look good?  He wouldn't, doesn't, know.

"Damn," Bucky says gruffly, one eyebrow raised.  "You should do my hair next."

Natasha is examining her hair now with the phone she's got in her hand, turning her head side to side where the braids are thickest.  Finally, she sets the phone down, and gives Tony an approving smile. For some reason, he feels like that was her real test - even though why it would be through hair-braiding, he has no clue.  "Thanks, Tony. It's beautiful."

"It wasn't hard or anything," Tony responds automatically.  "Fundamentally you can't make someone who isn't already beautiful look beautiful.  Wait, fuck - "

Bucky laughs.  "Did you just call Natasha beautiful?"

"Sorry," Tony says hastily.  Why can't he just… _people_ like a normal person?  "I mean, Romanoff - Natasha - she _is._ I mean - braids aren't a big deal.  Like I said, it wasn't hard."

Bucky sucks on his bottom lip, and for some reason, Tony has to fight to keep himself from focusing on the action.  "That's what you said when you fixed Sarah's car, too. Stop playin' down the things you do, even if they _are_ as simple as braidin' someone's hair.  Don't fight the compliments when you deserve 'em."

"Well," Tony says, feeling like the ground's no longer beneath his feet.  "Well, I - "

 _"You're welcome, Natasha,"_ Natasha says emphatically.   _"Because everyone is useless except for me, I will be doing your hair in the future from now on."_

"Exactly," Bucky says, then pauses.  "Hold on a second, Nat."

"Sure, I can do your hair in the future, if you want," Tony says after a moment.  "It's really no big deal."

Natasha sighs, even though he really doesn't know what he's done wrong now.  "We'll work on this," she says mysteriously. "You'll get it eventually." She straightens up in her chair all of a sudden.  "So, what were you two doing last night?" she asks, turning to Tony.

Tony glances at Bucky, who's already looking at him with inscrutable dark eyes.  "We...watched a cheesy romance movie. That's about it."

"Hmm," Natasha says.  "At two o'clock in the morning?"

"We couldn't _sleep,"_ Bucky says exasperatedly, and makes an aborted motion toward Tony's arm like he was making to grab the other boy's hand and then stopped.  "If you can't figure out that we're tellin' the truth, then you'd make a terrible spy."

"What do you think we would have been doing anyway?" Tony says, frowning.  The terms of how he met everyone here are bad enough; he doesn't want to look even worse.  God knows what they've all read about him on gossip mags and tabloids, anyway.

They're saved by Natasha's response when Sarah Rogers suddenly pops her head into the kitchen for a quick second, calling, "Steve, they're almost here!"

"Uh, _who's_ almost here?" Bucky says, frowning almost as hard as everyone else is.  "Steve?"

Rogers looks uncomfortable under the weight of the abrupt quietness and gazes of everyone else as they all turn to him.  "I forgot to tell you guys," he says like he's expecting the death sentence. "Sharon wanted to come see us, so Ma invited her over today...and she's bringing a friend."

The reaction is explosive.   _"Another_ kid who might still be in braces?" Bucky says, to which Natasha elbows him.  

Barton snickers.  "Aw, that's real cute, Steve, honestly."

Bruce pales.  "Another...girl?"

Thor booms, "Ah, how refreshing it is to meet new people!"

In the midst of all of it, Steve's face is turning redder and redder, and Tony's just watching the color creep slowly up the blonde's ears and neck.  Not for the first time, Tony's glad that while he can still blush like the best of them, he at least managed to escape the extent of Rogers's genes.

"Why not later?" Bucky says.  "Why now?"

Rogers sighs heavily.  "She wanted to come before Christmas, and I didn't think any of us wanted her to come over during Christmas Eve.  It's really not...everything that's happened is in the past. I'm sure she's already forgotten about the huge mess about her thinking I liked her.  And remember when we went to the store a few days ago? She was fine, we were both fine, I said hi. Everything was fine. And she's a nice girl. She's just a family friend who's bringing someone over, that's all."

"Who's the 'someone', anyway?" Barton asks.

Rogers shrugs.  "I don't know. Someone named...Sunny, I think?  She's at least two years older than us, though, not Sharon's age.  Actually, I'm pretty sure she used to babysit for Sharon before too."

"Huh," Barton says.  "She cute?"

This time, Natasha doesn't even have to smack him.  It's everyone else who does it for her.

"Jesus, I was joking!" Barton yelps, jumping out of his chair.  "Come on, you know who my heart belongs to, it's pretty obvious."  This statement is actually so true that they all stop and settle down again.

Rogers glances over at the clock.  "Well, she should be here around now.  Maybe we should clear the table up a bit."

"An' he says he doesn't care about her or what she thinks," Bucky comments amusedly, which Tony thinks is kind of strange considering hello, Bucky and Rogers are _dating,_ but maybe it's because Rogers's feelings are so prominent that Bucky doesn't feel the need to worry about there being any truth to the teasing.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock on the door and Sarah rushes into the kitchen, her hair now neatly combed.  The knocks continue in some weird pattern, getting progressively louder as they continue, and Tony watches as Bucky just _sighs._ The only thing he can remember from this Sharon girl is from her job at the store, with her blonde hair and squarish face and the way she perked up when Rogers stepped over to say hi.  But from Bucky's reactions, he's not so sure that she's really as mature as Rogers seems to think she's become.

"Come on in!" he hears Sarah say with a smile.  "Nice to meet you; I'm Steve's mother, but you can just call me Sarah.  You are…?"

A voice that sounds vaguely familiar responds, but Tony can neither see nor hear over the other teens bustling around as they help tidy up the table a little more.  He's wrapping one of the leftover plates of spaghetti in Saran wrap when a flash of blonde head enters, and then a dark brown one.

"Hi Sharon," Rogers says warmly, ever the polite guy, and then there's another "nice to meet you" that's drowned out as the fridge door opens and closes.  He hears Bucky's voice among the mix, too, and it's cute - even if unique - how Rogers introduces the brunette as "basically my brother." _Attached at the hip,_ Tony thinks wryly.

"You all know Sharon," Sarah calls out as they finish cleaning up the table and piling empty plates into the sink to wash later.  Her smile is warm and maternal and calms Tony down immediately. "This is her friend and ex-babysitter, Sunset."

For a second, it doesn't register.   _Sunset,_ Tony thinks, and his stomach slowly bottoms out as he makes eye contact with the tall, curvy brunette across the room.  She certainly looks the same - just as beautiful as before. And oh, God…

"Hi everyone," Sunset Bain says, and smiles sweetly even as her eyes remain on Tony's.  "It's so nice to meet you all."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author: *looks up hair quotes*
> 
> goodreads: "'pull the hair on my head the wrong way, and i would be on my knees begging for mercy. i have very sensitive follicles.'  
> \- benedict cumberbatch."
> 
> author: *ends up just going with jane eyre and gentleness instead*  
> -  
> sorry yall my dostoyevsky quote for this chapter has literally nothing to do with ch19 at all...but it is so well said and poignant and TRUE that i just had to have you guys read it. also for the record, i bought jane eyre from costco when i was in like seventh grade but never read it. i mainly bought it because it was a classic and it was my friend's favorite book, but...anyway. i just wanted tony to be cool and quote something from a book i felt like natasha would secretly enjoy. p.s. my 16th birthday is in eleven days and idk if i'll have updated by then (lmao) so...there we go  
> -  
> p.p.s. yeah, it's kind of rushed to have bucky talk to tony again right after the ferris wheel moment...but i wanted to TRULY get all of their conflicting feelings out of the way at last. i think this chapter really gives that final closure (or, at least, i hope it does)


	20. blue light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sunset bain is nasty, but we all already knew that
> 
> warning for unwanted sexual advances & underage (tony being 4 years younger and 16)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...it's been a long time. but i promise you guys that i will never abandon this story. even when it gets to like 288282 chapters because wow, chapter 20 and this is literally the slowest burn ever. i'm putting comment replies and life updates in end-of-chapter notes this time by the way. also uh so yeah you get my apologies at the end but for now i just wanna say that it's so funny how i got comments saying stuff like, "who's sunset" or "i thought she was a popular oc" and then "OMG THAT'S WHO SHE IS" later on. fair warning that bucky and tony are kinda oc in this because i haven't really been feelin myself but i hope you guys enjoy the plot stuff at least anyway

 

but i don't have anything left to give

i'm like an old bone

in the back of the fridge

and i could ask for what i want

so you could tell me what you need

but there's no use crying anymore

\- wet, _old bone_

 

**20.**

 

Everyone choruses "hello"s back, but Tony just stands there, a little slack-jawed.  Oh, God, how he remembers Sunset. He's tried to forget her, and for the most part it's worked, but now she's _here_ and she's that Sharon kid's _friend_ and…

Sunset is still watching him, those painted lips curved up in a secretive smile.  She, too, remembers him for sure.

As she makes her way around the room, personally greeting each of Steve's friends, Tony distantly notes how she moves the exact same way she used to.  Sunset's got this precise, slinking step, almost like Natasha except more bold and less graceful. She's also grown her hair out from the rebellious pixie cut she used to have, and that long sweep of hair nearly reaches her waistline.

She must be nineteen now, or even twenty - a woman.  It's strange to think that when she and Tony first met, she was seventeen and running from her demons, just like he was.  Now, they are so separate, so distant - and he still remembers how he used to think he loved her, that she loved him despite his monsters.

 _That's what I get for being a stupid naive fourteen year old,_ Tony thinks as a bitter smirk crosses his face.  Fourteen goddamn years of being manipulated by people who only wanted him for his money or "those adorable doe eyes" and it still took Sunset Bain to teach him a lesson.  

Sunset's standing in front of him now, having made her way through everyone else, and she's very tall, especially in those heeled boots she's wearing now.  Tony's only five eight, a part about himself he loathes endlessly, so she towers over him. She must be hitting six two in those boots, and that's another thing about her that hasn't changed - she always liked to look down on him.  

When he was younger, Tony just thought it was because she - well - liked dominance.  He didn't know.

That's the least reassuring part of it all.  That _he didn't know._

"Nice to meet you," Sunset says, all sweet slick smiles and white teeth.  She holds out a hand, delicately. "You are…?"

"Tony," Tony says.  That's how she wants to play it.  He smiles, trying to quell the internal anxiety with a polite expression.  "It's nice to meet you too."

Sunset trails a finger down his forearm, inconspicuously enough to look like a habit instead of a come on.  Tony shivers and hates himself for it. It's been two years, and he's no longer a scrawny, scared child fresh out of the Ten Rings' clutches and desperate for attention.  He's used to this, to flirting, to things like this, he should at least fight back, right?

He can't bring himself to do it.  He can't bring himself to give her his trademark smirk, or duck his head to look at her through the eyelashes he's been told are quite long.  Because he knows that no matter what he does, she will always have the upper hand. It is Tony who's been the sucker.

"You look familiar," Sunset says, biting her bottom lip.  Tony doesn't pretend to think that _that's_ a habit either.  "I don't know where I've seen you from, but we should talk later."  Her teeth drag on her lip before releasing. _"Tony."_

She turns away and back to the rest of the crowd, going in for a hug with Sarah before laughing and asking, "So, what's the plan for today?  I hope we haven't intruded on your breakfast."

"Not at all," Sarah Rogers is quick to say, motioning towards her son.  "Steve, honey, why don't you take Sunset and Sharon up to your room. You all can get acquainted there."

"Alright, ma," Rogers says, the perfect host as per usual, and offers a welcoming smile to Sunset.  "Let's go."

Upstairs, Steve takes them to the guest bedroom instead so that they can all sit on the bed, which is king-sized.  Tony tentatively takes a seat at the edge of the mattress, as far away from Sunset as he can possibly be. He swallows.  It's going to be a long night.

"So, how long will you guys be stayin'?" Bucky asks the two, tone disarming.  Sharon's scooted all the way over with Steve but she still squirms a little under Bucky's intent grey gaze.  For a second, Tony feels a hot flash of pity for the girl; she seems, okay, she seems a little annoying for her age for sure, but also?  A girl like that can get hurt easily. The thought settles something sick into his stomach. She's fourteen, isn't she?

And Sharon's been hanging around with _Sunset,_ babysitter role or not.  Sunset's...well, she's really not the type to find a girl like Sharon cute, but she knows how to wrap people around her little finger.  She knows how to play the kind babysitter well.

"Until we feel like leaving," Sharon says, giggling.  She seems like a giggler. "Oh, I don't know, we'll probably stay till nighttime, right, Sunny?"

If the situation didn't make him also want to run and hide, Tony would be all over the floor right now.  Oh, God, _Sunny._ She is so definitively not Sunset's type.  

"Sure, if you want," Sunset says, cool as a cucumber.  She examines her nails before flashing Sharon a quick smile that'd seem genuine if Tony didn't remember her so well.

"So," Barnes says, giving them both a quick smile.  "Most of us know Sharon, but we don't really know you.  You from around here?"

"Well, I was born in California," Sunset starts.  Tony can't miss the way her eyes flash to him briefly, full of promise and warning.  "But I moved here last year officially since I go to college down east. I met Sharon's mom while volunteering at the local preschool.  I was assisting her class, actually."

"Really?" Steve interjects.  "That's pretty cool. Do you volunteer a lot?"

Sunset shrugs modestly like the responsible, humble college student she is.  "Yeah, I really like working with kids."

Tony can't help out - he lets out a snort that tapers into a cough halfway through.  Immediately, Sunset's eyes are on him, pinning him down, but - oh, _God._ The idea itself is just so comical.  Sunset Bain, liking kids.

He remembers that back when he was dating her (if, in hindsight, it could be called dating), she'd make comments about children all the time.  "Look at those little monsters," she'd say when one of them bumped into their legs on the street or at the ice cream shop. "I'd never want one of those."  Tony would just laugh shyly, thinking that everybody had their differences, thinking that Sunset was super independent and it was cool how she didn't need anyone else to fulfill her.  But now he doesn't know what's real anymore. What Sunset shoved into his head on purpose and what she didn't.

"What's funny?" Sharon demands, frowning at him.  "Your name's Tony, right? You look really familiar."

"Nothing," Tony says, shifting on the bed.  "Also yeah, I get that a lot."

"If nothing's funny, why'd you laugh?"  

"Sharon, leave him alone," Sunset says, her tone carelessly amused but threaded through with just enough steel that Sharon obeys.  "He's probably just laughing because I don't look like I like kids, right? I get that a lot, too, Tony. Everyone says I look - oh, I don't know - aloof.  But I actually find them super cute."

Interestingly enough, it's Barnes - Bucky - who speaks up next, his face more guarded than his friends'.  He folds his arms from where he's seated next to Steve, tilting his head. "That _is_ funny," he says lightly.  "You definitely don't seem like the kid type to me either."

Tony has to tamp down his eyebrows from climbing up his forehead.  He might just be imagining things, but - Bucky sounds kind of...hostile.  Well, it's not like he really knows how Bucky is _normally_ to strangers, considering how they both got off on a severely wrong foot, but still.  Sunset's pretty, she's nice, she's - is he just imagining the slight tenseness behind Barnes's words?

Sunset laughs, and even though only Tony can hear the slight nuances, he still cringes a little at how the sound is just a little too loud and a little too grating to be _right._ "Well," she says brightly, smiling that red, red smile at Bucky.  "Hopefully the kids I work with think otherwise."

After that, the conversation moves onto easier things - like how she's enjoying her stay here, what she's done in this little town so far, what California's like.  "Tony lives in Malibu," Bruce says, glancing at the other boy. "Do you live anywhere near there, Sunset?"

"Oh, no," Sunset replies smoothly, lying through her teeth.  She is still watching Tony. "I live more up north. I couldn't live in Malibu.  It's much too hot."

As the morning wears on, Tony finds the air getting more and more stifling.  He pulls on his collar, trying to get some air in - Jesus, it's sixty degrees in the house, it shouldn't be so goddamn hot.  No one else seems to be noticing how he's fidgeting around, they're still talking to Sunset - and why shouldn't they be? She's just as enigmatic as when he met her three years ago.  Just as charming. Just the right combination of vulnerable and bold.

"We should go to the lake today," Sharon says suddenly.  She grabs onto Sunset's arm - literally, where did this girl even come from - and pouts.  "Steve, do you wanna go to the lake?"

"It's frozen over, what's the point," Clint says, chuckling a little.  It dies a slow death, however, when he realizes that everyone's mulling over the idea and nodding.  

"It'll be real beautiful out there," Steve says.  "We should go, even if we can't swim or anything. If the ice is tough enough, we can walk out there a little too."

Tony frowns.  He knows enough about ice to also know that that's a stupid idea.  If the ice cracks once, even once, someone could die out there - trapped underneath the ice, in the water, bubbles coming out of their mouth in a parody of screaming.

"I'll ask my ma," Steve continues.  He flashes a quick smile at Sharon, who seems all too proud to have weaseled one out of him.  "After all, we have the whole entire day."

 

Bucky doesn't like Sunset Bain.

On the surface, he can't find anything discernibly wrong with her.  She's nice, she's funny, hell - she's pretty, even though that shouldn't factor in on any of his judgements.  

But his gut?  It's telling him there's something just so slightly off.

The thing is, Bucky has really good intuition.  It's what saved he and Steve from getting kidnapped once when they were younger.  It's what made his heart speed up mere seconds before the car crash - even though he couldn't have done anything to stop it.  So the fact that his alarms are blaring as he watches this friendly babysitter work her magic on the rest of his friends? Concerning.

Not to mention that Stark - Tony - has been acting a little weird.  Not that Tony doesn't normally act twitchy, because the guy is _twitchy,_ but.  Bucky's seen him knot his hands together _seventeen times_ in the last four minutes, and that's a little excessive, even for him.

On the ride over to the lake, Bucky makes sure to sit next to Tony, who's seated next to Sunset in the back.  Tony's still awfully jittery when Bucky's hip inevitably presses against his during a turn, but what Bucky's more focused on is how Tony seems to be clinging a little to his side.  Not obviously, of course, but Bucky's always been praised for his sharp observational skills. So he notices. And it's weird.

They've already had chats about this, but Bucky's not gonna turn around and pretend like everything's okay between them.  In fact, with all the not-so-false rumors of Tony's sexual openness back at SHIELD, he would've assumed Tony'd be flirting like the suave playboy he is and leaving a ten foot space between them as per usual.  But no - this time, Tony is stiff. Paler. And while every part of Bucky's rationality is rolling its eyes, his gut is telling him that Sunset Bain seems just a little fake.

By the time they reach the lake, it's only eleven am.  The sky is white with a grey flush and it's beautiful, and he catches Stark - Tony - gazing upwards, with a look akin to awe.  For some reason, this has Bucky holding back a smile.

Sharon's already off with Steve, chattering incessantly (okay, Bucky doesn't remember himself or any of his friends being like this at fourteen, but alright).  Sunset's making small talk with Bruce, who looks a bit red in the face and fumbly. Natasha and Clint are whispering to each other behind their scarves, nestling quite close, and Thor's several paces ahead already, romping cheerfully in the snow with his jacket already half-slung off of his shoulders.

This leaves Bucky to simply enjoy the weather, and observe.  

As he watches, trailing behind everyone to relax in the cool air and enjoy the walk, he notices Sunset drift closer to Tony.  From where he is, it looks like a friendly conversation - and yet, he also can't miss the way Tony's shoulders curl like they're tensing, and how fluidly Sunset moves as she combs her hair back and touches his elbow.  In fact, it almost looks like she's flirting.

Normally Bucky would roll with it - it's not in his nature to, well, disrupt that kind of thing.  But there's something in the way Tony subtly shifts away from Sunset, everything in his body language screaming _wrong,_ that prompts him to move up next to Tony and sling his arm around the other boy's shoulders.

"What're you guys talkin' about?"

Tony jerks a little under his arm but doesn't move, which Bucky counts as a win.  Meanwhile, an odd expression flits across Sunset's face - almost angry - before disappearing.  "I was just asking Tony some things about California. He's been telling me he doesn't like how hot it is."

"Yeah, that's why it's cool that Tony came with us for break," Bucky responds easily.  With Tony pressed up against his side, he suddenly realizes just how different their heights are - Tony can't be more than 5'9".  "It gets real cold here during winters."

Sunset laughs and nods her head.  "Oh, trust me, I know."

"Hey, look," Steve calls out from ahead of them suddenly.  Bucky glances up and, _oh,_ there it is - the lake.  It's frozen solid and sparkling with reflected sunlight, like a pool of glitter.  Snow is scattered across its surface in heaps and it's just so _beautiful._ Obviously Tony thinks so too, because he jerks forward a little under Bucky's arm like he's yearning to touch it.

"Hey, c'mon," Bucky says.  He gently nudges Tony forward.  "No one's stoppin' you."

They all end up gathered in the snow by the edge of the lake, and Bucky watches as Tony curls into his large sweatshirt and tugs his too-long sleeves over his knuckles.  It's like watching a little puppy roll around in its owner's clothing, and he doesn't know how he's never noticed Tony's so damn _small_ before.  Well - okay.  5'7", 5'8", is really not that tiny.  But compared to Bucky, who's definitely hitting six foot and over, it's a marked distance.

"The ice has gotta be pretty thick, right?" Clint calls from his position out on the lake.  He's already twenty, thirty meters from the bank.

"You're going to fall in, and nobody is going to help you," Natasha shouts back, but she's already laughing and stumbling - somehow still gracefully - over to Clint.  Bucky can't help the smile that surfaces onto his face as he watches them. Nat pretends to get frustrated over Clint all the time, but nobody can miss the way they love each other.

Steve comes over and grabs him, tongue between his teeth as he grins.  "Stop bein' such a spoilsport, Buck, and come play."

"Isn't that s'posed t' be my line?"

As Bucky wobbles over to Clint and Natasha, he notes distantly that Sunset and Tony are still sitting on the bank, alone now.  Somewhere inside of him he feels bothered - maybe it's because of how he doesn't like Sharon's babysitter - and he grabs on Steve to keep from falling as he waves over at the pair.  "Hey, Tony!" he shouts, motioning at them. "Join us!"

The little figure seated next to Sunset shakes its head a little.  Bucky wants to go back, maybe, tug on Tony's wrist and tell him to have some fun - but, well, it's Tony Stark.  He knows what he's doing. If he wants to sit in the snow drift with Sunset, so be it.

"What're you looking at?" Steve says, coming up beside him again.  He peers over and waves at Tony. "Does he not want to join?"

Bucky shrugs, bites his lip, turns away.  "I think at this point, a pretty stranger is better than us."

Steve frowns but nods his head in agreement.  "Alright," he says slowly. "Well, maybe he'll change his mind."

"Yeah, maybe."  Bucky casts one last look at the pair huddled in the snow.  As he watches, Tony leans in and says something to Sunset - and then he takes her hand and they stumble from the bank and into the woods.  

Okay, well, they're obviously off to do something more...private.  That must mean everything's okay, then. Maybe he's just being paranoid.  Maybe he's just being...overprotective, or something, because he's already hurt Tony enough.  After all, it's not like Sunset or Tony could've gotten to hate each other when they've barely talked and it's only been an hour.  It's not like they know each other. And it's not like Sunset's really a bad person, anyway - he's always been suspicious, even before the accident; he's always overthinking things.

And now they're off in the woods to do God knows what.  Does Bucky even want to know?

He follows Steve across the lake and over to their other friends.  The ice shines blue with a strange light, like a beacon lit in warning.

 

"Not here," Tony says.  He sucks in a breath. "Please.  Not here."

"Okay, let's get some privacy then," Sunset says agreeably.  She reaches for his hand and clenches her fingers around his, a little harder than necessary.  "The woods. Get up, Tony."

Without bothering to look at him again, Sunset tugs him across the snow and through the trees bordering the lake.  "Time to catch up a little, isn't it, Tones?"

Tony bites the inside of his cheek as they reach a snowy clearing, well enough away from the lake that nobody can hear them or even see them.  "What do you want?"

"That's not the way to treat an old friend, you know.  How've you been?" Sunset says, friendly as ever as she sits down in the snow and crosses her legs.  She turns to Tony, patting the ground beside her so that he'll sit down too. Her body is poised as if for the cover of a magazine.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Tony replies back.  He stills the trembling in his fingers by digging them into the snow, and focuses on the evergreens surrounding them instead.  They are tall and dark green and beautiful, but he can't even appreciate them with Sunset here, and for one hot second, he hates her.  Just overwhelmingly and wildly hates her. "Surprised you came here. Thought you hated the cold."

"Oh, I do," Sunset says, laughing, and for a second - but just one - Tony can imagine that they're back again, she seventeen and he fourteen, and he's looking into her eyes and calling it "love."  It's funny to think of it now, his fourteen-year-old notion of love - as if love were so easy, so simple. Obviously his parents' marriage had taught him nothing.

Sunset has moved closer to him.  "Do you remember what we used to do?" she says lightly with a smile.  "Remember all the fun we had?"

"In hindsight, I'd say that that fun was pretty one-sided."  Tony twists his mouth into a smile - or, at least, a parody of one.  He's _sixteen,_ for God's - he can handle somebody like Sunset Bain.  He's been handling people like her all his life.

Sunset pouts at him.  "You liked it too." Ah, now there it is: the classic hand trailing down the arm.  She looks him up and down. "And you're not as shrimpy as you used to be, you know.  Those hours in the shop must've finally caught up to you, you should take advantage of it."

"Unlike some people, I don't like taking advantage of others."  The words burn in his throat.

Sunset sits up straighter.  "Okay, Tony," she says, and her voice is so so quiet and so so amused.  "But that's not what I said."

The sun is very bright in his eyes and he tries to blink the glare out from between his lashes.  Sunset's smile is gleaming, white and sharp like fangs, and for a moment he thinks the most stupid thing possible: _can't sunlight kill vampires?_

"Anyway," Sunset continues.  She licks her lower lip and Tony tries to ignore the small pink flash of tongue that darts out from her mouth.  Even now, even after all that's happened, he's still...he has no fucking clue how to feel about her. "I've missed you, Tony.  Do you still think about me?"

"No," Tony lies.  He gives her a bitter smirk.  "You were just another person who fucked me over.  What makes you think you're so special?"

Sunset tosses her hair back with long fingers and laughs, light and lilting.  "Oh, _Tony,"_ she says, and oh God it's just like his luck to have Sharon Carter's babysitter be Sunset Bain.  "I remember how you worshiped me. I know you haven't forgotten. You were so _silly,_ just following me around like a little lost puppy.  Tell me, Tones - I know I was your first, but was I your last, too?"

"I'm not as inexperienced as I used to be," Tony says and his voice sounds oh so brittle and does he know it.

"Oh?"  That hand, moving to his thigh.  "You tried to erase me, didn't you.  With other people. Newsflash, Tony - life doesn't work that way."

"Fuck off, Sunset," Tony says coldly.  His entire body is cold - his chest, his hands, his veins.  "If not for my luck, I would've never seen you again."

"I've _missed_ you," Sunset repeats, and touches him.  Touches _him._ "I've missed you, Tony."

Tony stands abruptly and pushes her arm off of his lap.  "Stop," he says, a tremble threading through his voice. _"Stop."_

Sunset shrugs but stays on the ground, looking up at him.  For some reason, Tony feels no pleasure at finally being the one to loom over the other.  "I'm going to ruin you inside and out," she says pleasantly, not averting her gaze. "I slept with you, dated you, forced myself to pretend to like you, and you still ended up being useless.   _'I'm sorry, I can't steal the weapons blueprints, my daddy will get mad!'_ God, you're just as much the weak little virgin you were before I fucked you."

"You never wanted to do this," Tony says lowly.  His hands shake. "You never cared about weapons, Sunset, you told me."

"Of all the people I know," Sunset hisses back, her voice like steel.  She stands. "You should know that what we want doesn't matter. Not when our fathers are Stark and Bain."

"You didn't have to listen to him," Tony says softly.  He hates her, oh how he hates her, but. But.

Sunset shrugs, her face morphing into something twisted and nasty.  "If you think I didn't want to hurt Stark Industries, you're wrong. My father may have told me to, Tony, but if you think I ever loved you or wanted you for anything more than boosting my father's company, then you're even more stupid than I thought."

Tony flinches.

"You're just a Stark," Sunset says, that sunny smile returning to her face again.  Her eyes tear into him, hurting him, choking him. "I could've used those blueprints.  I could've stopped the monster your father is creating with his weapons. I could've torn down your family.  But thanks to you, your legacy will continue. How does it feel, Tony? Hurting all those people - all that _blood_ on your hands?"

"My father isn't me," Tony says.  His voice is a ghost of what it was only minutes previously.  "Howard's not - not me."

"Isn't he, though?" Sunset says.  Going in for the hit. Guess she really hasn't changed.  "Do you not hurt people, Tony? Can you really say you're more innocent than me?"

"No."  His voice is a whisper.  "But I'd never hurt…" He can't finish.  Because somewhere beyond the trees, there's Barnes, lightyears away across the lake and laughing and having fun.  His metal arm gleaming in the winter sun.

Sunset follows his gaze to where it reaches through to the lake and laughs.  "Something to do with one of them, huh?" She shrugs. "Tony, when are you going to stop being a naive little boy and learn that you're a _Stark?_ Starks hurt people.  You can't change that."

He's losing his already-tenuous grip on the situation.  He feels it and there's this hot sensation in his chest, tight and knotted.  "What?" he snaps hoarsely, because he doesn't know what else to yell and isn't Sunset right, after all?  About him? He's a Stark, and Starks profit off of destruction. He destroyed Bucky's arm and they all still took him in, being nice to him and showing him festivals and making marshmallows and not taking advantage of the fact that the great Tony Stark has PTSD.  Well. Unless they use that info later. But in the end, Sunset is right anyway. All he is is a Stark, and Starks hurt people.

Sunset says it for him.  "You know the truth," she says placidly.  "I know you know how to use that supposedly genius brain of yours."

Tony tilts his chin up.  "Should it bother me?"

For the first time, Sunset looks at him - really looks at him.  "What?"

"Should it bother me that I'm a Stark?" he says with a calm that doesn't match his insides.  "That Starks hurt people? You're telling me this like I'm afraid of it."

Sunset laughs.  "You are."

"No," Tony says, and he offers her a smile.  The Stark-patented one, the one that looks like a shark's and bites twice as hard.  "I could hurt you. Baintronics is nothing compared to Stark Industries, that's why your father sent you to steal SI secrets in the first place.  You think I don't remember anything about you? You think I couldn't use that against you?"

"But you won't," Sunset whispers, and how did she get so close?  She presses up against him, slinking an arm around his neck. For a brief second Tony wonders if she possibly believes everything she's saying.  "You won't, because I was your first, Tony. I was your everything." The last word is breathed into his mouth as she gently tilts his chin up and kisses him.

Tony jerks back.  "What the hell are you doing?"  He wipes his mouth and it feels sick, dirty.  "What could you possibly get from me anymore?"

"Maybe I just want to have some fun," Sunset says, shrugging lightly.  She gives him a look and there's something in her eyes that he can't read.  "Maybe I miss what we used to have, Tony. Maybe I miss how you were the only one who wasn't trying to get something in return.  Maybe I miss how naively you loved me."

"Stay away from me," Tony hisses, but his own voice sounds shaky.  "Don't do that again, Sunset, I told you - what we had is over."

"You loved me so much," Sunset says and puts a hand on him again.  "There's got to be a little love left, Tony, in that heart of yours.  Even if you're becoming more and more like your dad every day. Isn't there, Tony?"  She pushes him, just a little, in the chest. He feels bark against his back as he stumbles and oh, that's what it must be - a tree behind him, Sunset in front of him, trapped, trapped, trapped.  "Don't you want to prove you're still capable of love?"

 

In the end...it's by some divine interference.  Or by stone cold luck.

"I've gotta pee," Bucky says, and laughs when Steve rolls his eyes.  "Some people have small bladders, Stevie, jeez, don't harass me."

"Okay, but hurry up," Steve says with a grin as he turns back to where Clint's currently twerking for Natasha.  "Or everything might freeze and fall off."

"What kind of science class are _you_ taking?" Bucky hollers in response as he crosses the ice.  He's careful to step where there are patches of snow so that he doesn't slip, but he can still sense how slick the surface is.  Wouldn't that be funny - if he tripped and went headfirst into the ice. Maybe Bruce's little genius friend could give him a new brain, or something.

He finally reaches the trees and makes his way through them, searching for a spot where he can safely pee out of view of the lake.  He's a guy, it's not like he couldn't even just inconspicuously pee out on the ice - but it makes him uncomfortable. The publicity, that is.  For all of his gusto when he's parading around with Steve and the rest of them, he needs his quiet moments. His privacy. Away from the prickling sensation that people are always watching, always waiting to hurt him.

" - capable of love," someone says all of a sudden, and Bucky's head jerks up.  It's a faint wisp of sound, winding toward him from somewhere in the forest, but he catches it anyway - and it sounds like Sunset.

Oh, shit.  He's forgotten completely about Tony and Sunset.  He swears to God, if Sharon's babysitter and Stark are screwing in a tree somewhere near him, he's going to…

"Stop," Tony says, and it sounds tense.  Panicked. "Sunset, I'm serious. Stop."

Bucky draws closer to the noise.  Whatever's going on, it doesn't sound like sex.

"You could at least be useful for once," Sunset's saying back.  "You know, considering I had to call you stupid names and cuddle you and pretend like I cared for five goddamn months."

"That was years ago," Tony's voice filters through the trees.   _"Years_ ago, and you're still thinking about that."

"Come on."  Sunset's voice is impatient.  "Are you really going to be that childish?"

Bucky comes to a stop when he sees Sunset, hand scrabbling for purchase on the waistline of Tony's pants.  And Tony himself, pressed against a tree and looking for all the world like he's frozen stiff, his eyes wide and breath coming in shaky bursts of white in the cold air.  

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" he yells across the clearing and Sunset jerks back like a rubber band, head snapping around to look at Bucky.  She winces right after and _good,_ he hopes she got whiplash.

Bucky storms over and he can't even think straight, from what he's just seen, from what he's just - _God,_ oh God, Tony's...Tony's…  Fine, no, Stark's fine. Nothing happened, they're still bundled in their winter garments, they're fine.  It's fine. (Is it?)

"James," Sunset says, and she widens her eyes.  They're big and sad and brown, but it's a strange brown, a cold brown.  Not honeyed or warm, like Tony's. "Thank God you're here. Tony tried to - "

"Are you fucking _kiddin'_ me right now?"  Bucky looks her dead in the eye, shaking with the effort not to deck her.  Girl or not, she's seventeen or eighteen and can handle a metal fist to the face.  "You're really gonna try t' sell me that bullshit? I saw you."

Sunset's face shifts immediately.  "Why do you care?" she says coolly, adjusting her stance into something composed and confident.  "It doesn't take a genius to tell you aren't friends with Tony, James."

"Stop callin' me James," Bucky says tightly.  "What the fuck were you doing just now?"

"We know each other," Sunset says in response.  She motions toward Tony, who hasn't moved since and is still stiff against the tree.  "We go way back. You have no idea what we used to have."

 _"Used to_ is the key phrase here," Bucky hisses.  "Not _anymore."_ He gestures wildly.  "Should I be callin' the police?  I heard him say stop, don't even try t' deny it - "

"No," Tony says, and Bucky's eyes flick over to meet his.  "No police."

"Aren't you a legal adult anyway?" Bucky grits out.  "Eighteen? Is this even legal?"

"Of course it'd be legal if I were eighteen," Sunset scoffs, her voice colored with a hint of disbelief.  Like she thinks Bucky's _stupid_ or something, and -

"She's twenty," Tony says quietly.  "She should be twenty. Now."

For a second Bucky just stares.  Now that he knows, he can definitely see a twenty year old in Sunset Bain - but - but that means - that means that -

"Get the fuck away from him," he says lowly, and he takes a step toward Sunset in the snow.  "Get the _fuck_ away from Tony before I call the fucking police."

"I'm still Sharon's babysitter, you know," Sunset says, even as her gaze flickers.  "I can't just leave her here."

"Oh, _yes,_ you can," Bucky growls.  "She's got me and Tony to take care of her, not a fucking assaulter."

Sunset shrugs and takes a step back.  "Alright," she says coolly. "Whatever, James.  I'll see you later, Tony."

"No you fuckin' _won't,"_ Bucky snarls at her retreating back.  "Not if I can fuckin' _help_ it you _won't."_

As soon as Sunset's gone, he turns to Tony, who's sagging against the tree now with his eyes closed.

"Hey, doll," he says, barely even aware of what's coming out of his mouth.  Okay, this is Stark - this is _Tony -_ and Tony's a friend now, and Tony needs help.  "Listen t' me, it's gonna be okay. She's not comin' back, okay - it'll be okay."

Tony sucks in an audible breath and looks up at him.  Bucky's almost startled at the intense gaze - chocolate-colored, flecked with bits of honey and amber.  "I know her," he starts quietly, "from - back in California. No big deal, she didn't do anything, I just...I used to date her."

"She's four years older than you," Bucky says, can't help but say.  "Stark - Tony…"

"I _know,"_ Tony says roughly.  "I mean - sorry. Just - God, I...I know."

"'M not gonna ask," Bucky says softly, "if you don't wanna tell me.  But look, it's cold out and you're from California and not used to it.  Let's go back to the car. I can text Steve and tell him we're goin' back, yeah?"

"Sunset's probably back in the car," Tony says miserably.  "She came with us, remember?"

"I can have Sarah get someone to pick her up," Bucky says firmly.  "Sarah's great, she won't ask questions - she'll just, I dunno, get a friend or somethin'.  You don't have t' worry about that. But for now, then, we can go to the visitor cabin - it's a little shack for people who stop by the lake.  It's got rations and a fireplace and we can warm ourselves up in there."

"All your friends are probably waiting for you," Tony mutters.  He picks at the overlong sleeves of his sweatshirt.

"And they can _keep_ waitin'," Bucky says, more strongly than he intends.  "C'mon," he says, softer. "I'll let everyone know where we're headed and then we can eat some snacks or somethin'.  But I don't wanna stand out here in the cold, I'm gettin' chilly, too. See? Brrrr." He rubs his hands and blows on them for effect.

He's rewarded with the smallest smile from Tony.  "Alright," Tony says as he visibly tries to hold back his expression, and suddenly Bucky finds himself thinking - he's never noticed before how sweet Tony's face is when he's smiling.  It's like his eyes get a little brighter and his mouth quirks up a little more on one side, or something. He also realizes how rarely he's seen Tony smile since he's met him, and this one probably isn't even one hundred percent genuine.

Maybe he should make it his goal to get Tony to smile more, he thinks.  If not for anything else but to serve as one final olive branch, as one final apology.  

"Y'know," he says lightly, because he's still holding it out, that one single olive branch.  "We'd better get there fast, before Thor sees our texts and decides he wants t' eat too. I want there to be more than crumbs left in the cabinets when I go lookin' for food."

The subtle way Tony's mouth curves up again is worth it, Bucky decides, even when he realizes he still desperately needs to pee.  "You okay?" he adds quietly after a moment, even though it's a dumb question. Maybe nothing happened, but - still. How could anyone be okay?

"Always."  Tony's voice is faint but there, lingering.  "Thanks."

"No need t' say thank you," Bucky tells him, and tries not to look at the boy in the red sweatshirt beside him.  Tries not to think about what could've, would've, happened if he hadn't thought to pee in this exact spot at this exact time.  Tony's so goddamn small, honestly; a big and charismatic persona but small nevertheless. "At least, not till I get some food in you before Thor comes thunderin' in and eatin' everything in sight."

He hopes Tony's still smiling, even though when he glances over, Tony's face is tilted away and angled toward the line where the trees meet the sky.  Even if it's just to smile over something as lame as a crack about Thor's ridiculous appetite.  
  
As they walk through the snow, Bucky tells himself to stop glancing over at Tony and focuses on leading them both toward the cabin instead.  It is quiet, but his heart's still pounding like he's run a long, long way from the lake and everyone's laughter free as the wind.

The breeze whistles restlessly through the trees and is gone.   
  
  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't been feeling as much motivation to write lately, i suppose. i've been writing like a paragraph per day, which i suppose is why this chapter took me so long. uhh and also i guess something bad happened in my life recently pertaining to, y'know, family and personal things and stuff, so i've been kind of numbing out and it's hard to focus on anything. 🤷🏻♀️ you guys have all been really supportive though and i just want to thank everyone, esp @aryiakirby bec they left me a message like an hour ago saying they wanna make sure i'm okay and y'all are just really sweet aha. on another note, remember how bucky wants the film "it's a wonderful life" and tony thinks, 'it's probably some cheesy happy shit'? well. a user - @"aaaaaah" - commented, "what if the movie was 'life is beautiful'?" so naturally i looked it up and HDNDHHDJFHHHSJDJS omg. it's a psychological horror thing and involves a concentration camp...  
> anyway. make of that what you will.  
> // ok it's 5:10am where i live and no i didn't wake up early it's a saturday lol but that means i need to sleep...and i gotta get up at 10...big oofers  
> ily all  
> p.s. won't be able to see captain marvel until next wknd or even 2 wks from now... :( but hey i heard good reviews from people who've watched it!! yay!!


	21. part of the journey is the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> literally just lighthearted fluff and interaction. sharon talks to tony, and tony realizes he kinda likes her (as the little sister he's never had). bucky talks to tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [NO SPOILERS] so...i watched endgame at 4:30pm on april 26 (~two days ago), which is the official release date in the united states. and, well...it was one of the most painful things i've ever had to watch. i was crying so hard i was shaking in my seat. i cried so hard i didn't even have to pee, probably because there was no more liquid left in my body. anyway. more on that in end-of-chapter notes, but...yeah. one of the best movies i've seen in a damn long while, and just such a wonderful full circle and heartbreakingly beautiful end to ten years of loving and growing up with the marvel franchise. just...wow.  
> ALSO. because endgame was so recent, i just think for those of us who have seen it, we all just really needed a nice fluffy chapter. so...just fair warning that this chapter has literally NO formatting whatsoever. like, my home wifi filters out ao3 and i'm actually using a proxy site to post rn, but even the site can't override some of the blocking. thus, i couldn't bold or italicize anything in this chapter and that might be a little wonky at times so...reader beware.

 

 _ **excerpt from a letter written upon hearing of poet dylan thomas's death.**_  
_it must be true, but i still can't believe it - even if i felt during the brief time i knew him that he was headed that way… thomas's poetry is so narrow - just a straight conduit between birth & death, i suppose - with not much space for living along the way._  
\- elizabeth bishop

**21.**

Bucky pops a bag of Lays open and inhales deeply. "Mm. Sometimes there's just nothin' better than junk food." He waggles the bag around just to hear that beautiful, beautiful sound of a chip bag crinkling.

"Right," Tony says, but he's smiling a little. "I could, uh, really go for a cheeseburger right now."

"Yes," Bucky replies immediately. He straightens up and looks over at Tony. "But without pickles."

"I think pickles are okay. It's a necessary sacrifice in order to get your food faster."

Bucky shakes his head, but he checks to make sure Tony knows he's only kidding. "Gross."

They settle into a comfortable enough silence, but even Bucky can't help thinking of the elephant in the room. God only knows what's going through Tony's head right now, considering everything that's just happened - not to mention it's like the icing on top of an already-shitty cake. Wordlessly, he proffers the Lays bag to Tony, and when he glances over, the hand in the bag is trembling.

"I'm okay, by the way," Tony says once he's eaten a chip. He won't look over at Bucky, instead staring intently at the floor as he licks the salt off his upper lip. "Just in case you don't think I am."

"Okay," Bucky says softly. He doesn't think another answer, or more querying, would be appreciated right now. It doesn't mean Tony shouldn't talk about it eventually, but for now - he thinks they both need a break.

"Do you want some more?" He shakes the Lays. "Not gonna lie, I'm probably gonna finish them off pretty soon. Steve always tells me I eat like a bottomless pit. Fast metabolism and all that."

"No thanks," Tony says quietly. He draws his knees up to his chest on the couch and lays his cheek on them, watching Bucky. "I guess I'm not very hungry after...Sunset." Then he draws his head up a little, frowning like he's thinking about what to say. "Honestly, Barnes - Bucky - I...I don't know. I think I really loved her. Like, when I was younger, I mean. She wasn't even that nice when we were dating, but...she was there, and she wanted me. It was nice." He shrinks back a little into the couch, the way little kids do in front of bullies, and something there just makes Bucky's heart - ache.

"I'm not gonna say I understand," Bucky begins slowly, "because I don't. At least, probably not as completely as you want me to. But I'm not gonna think about you any differently, and I'm not gonna tell anyone what happened between you and Sunset unless you want me to, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. Yeah."

There's a pause before Bucky offers the Lays again, and this time Tony reaches out to take one. The tremors in his hand have stilled a bit more now.

"Sunset wasn't all that wrong, you know," Tony says quietly after a bit. Bucky pauses mid-crunch. "I'm - you might not have heard what she said, but...I've got blood on my hands. I've done bad things. I know Stark Industries kills people, even if it's for American soldiers. We could at least be helping in other ways, like, I don't know, exploring clean energy, but we've channeled all our time and energy into building weapons. And the people on the board, they don't even care. If they cared about helping soldiers, it would be more okay - but all they think about is the profit. Sunset wasn't that wrong, you know. If you think you're helping me because Sunset was invalid, you shouldn't be."

"That's not you, though," Bucky finds himself saying. Seconds later, he realizes for the first time that he truly, truly means it. In fact, when he thinks about it, a lot of what he used to think about Tony Stark wasn't just because of the guy's asshole reputation but how his family profited from war and seemed to disregard the fact that those were flesh-and-blood people out there, just trying to do what they thought was right. In hindsight...he's been stupid. Really stupid. "The actions of Stark Industries, for the wrong reasons or not, don't reflect on who you are. The fact that you're thinkin' about this in the first place should show that you're not a bad person. In any case, Bain's a bitch who looks like the lovechild of Kim Kardashian and Natalie Portman if said lovechild got hit by an eighteen wheeler. And I'm gonna keep sayin' that till you realize I'm right."

"Yeah, alright," Tony says, and he doesn't look convinced, but at least there's the ghost of a smile on his face now. "And Sunset is pretty. You can't lie about that."

"Okay, fine, sure," Bucky says, rolling his eyes, "but you're still prettier."

There's a silence.

"Okay," Tony says, thankfully choosing to ignore Bucky's idiocy. "Well, that's not too bad if I can beat out Kim and Natalie Portman."

Bucky chuckles. "Yeah, you gotta give yourself more credit."

Suddenly, the door to the cabin thuds open and Thor comes rushing in, as loud and cheery as always. "You all have started on the refreshments without me," he exclaims, only stopping when he sees Tony flinch back. "My apologies, Anthony," he says more somberly. "My mother tells me I have a tendency to be loud, like thunder."

"Well, she sure ain't wrong," Bucky says dryly.

Steve, Clint, Bruce, Sharon, and Natasha come trailing in behind Thor, shoulders dusted in a thin layer of powder. "Damn, you really started the party without us," Clint says, snagging a soda from one of the cupboards and tossing Dinamitas to Natasha. "Hey, Stark, how you doing?"

Tony eyes Clint with a look akin to a caged rabbit's before deciding he can sense no malice in the other boy's statement. "Uh, I'm good. It's just kind of cold out. Not that used to it."

"Yeah," Clint says, taking a seat on the couch perpendicular to theirs. "The East Coast really freezes your balls off."

At the cupboards, Thor's still rummaging through them. So far he's got a pack of gummies and two bags of chips gathered in his arms. Tony huffs a little laugh, eyes darting to Bucky's. "You were right," he murmurs sotto voce. "There really won't be anything left when he's done."

"'M always right," Bucky whispers back, stifling a snort as Thor staggers over to the couch with a resultant six bags of candy. "Thor, buddy, isn't that a little excessive?"

Thor looks over at them, frowning. "Hungry stomachs require much sustenance. Should I not desire to feed myself?"

"I'm pretty sure that's not what Bucky meant," Clint interrupts, grinning, "but you do you, man. No judgement here."

"Hey, where's Sunset?" Bruce says abruptly. "I didn't miss anything, did I?"

"I texted Steve," Bucky says casually, shrugging a shoulder. He shakes the last crumbs from the Lays bag into his mouth. "She told Tony and I that she wasn't feelin' well, so Sarah's sendin' someone to come pick her up."

"Oh," Bruce says thoughtfully. "So are we just taking care of Sharon for the rest of the day?"

Steve's face reddens from the long string of coughs he lets out.

"Yeah," Bucky says, slow grin spreading across his face. "We sure are. You alright there, Steve?"

Sharon, who's been quiet up until this point, narrows her eyes at Bucky. "Obviously not. Steve, do you need some water? It's a fact that if you drink water, you'll feel better. Your throat won't be as itchy, and you're probably coughing because it's cold outside and making it itchy."

"I'm good," Steve says hoarsely, massaging his larynx as if he were expecting to be guillotined at any second. "Really, Sharon. I'm fine."

Eventually the chatter trickles down and everyone resumes concentrating on their food, and it gives Bucky a strange but immense amount of satisfaction to see Tony sneak over to the cupboards to grab a bag of Welch's. He's moving furtively, as if he expects to be yelled at at any second for taking a whole snack item for himself, but seems to settle down once he's safely back on the couch. Bucky doesn't even know he's smiling until he catches Natasha watching him and realizes the corners of his mouth have crept, slowly but surely, up his face.

His phone pings with a message.

 **natasha:** _you're cute when you smile, barnes. you should do it more often_

 **bucky:** you don't like the brooding glare?

**natasha:** _i like that too, but i think you're cuter when you're watching tony_

Bucky frowns down at the screen.

 **bucky:** _i wasn't watching tony_

 **natasha:** _okay, james_

Had he been watching Tony? He's not even sure anymore. He glances over, to where the shorter boy has pulled out a grape gummy and is frowning at it like it's personally attacked him. Tony tosses the grape Welch back into the bag before searching for another one, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and - oh. Bucky's smiling again.

**bucky:** _he's kind of like a puppy, now that we've been hanging out with him. i don't know_

**natasha:** _so does that mean you've completely forgiven him, then?_

**bucky:** _yeah. i guess we weren't very nice either, so he deserved an apology too. he didn't mean to break the arm anyway._

**natasha:** _okay_

Bucky's about to ask a question, maybe ask what she thinks about Tony - after all, she's been acting pretty nice lately and it's either because she's about to hide a body or because she's genuinely decided to like the other boy - when Sharon ambles across the room and plops down next to Tony, tugging on the two blonde braids sticking out from beneath her pink beanie.

"You're Tony Stark, right?"

"Mhm," Tony says warily. He eyes her with a healthy amount of trepidation, and Bucky feels for him. Sharon is a real character for fourteen years old.

Sharon cocks her head, studying him steadily. "You're pretty cute," she says finally, pursing her lips. "Even though I didn't really like the haircut you had two years ago, when you won that scholarship for MIT."

Tony laughs a little. "I agree that it wasn't my best haircut ever," he says, uncoiling a little on the couch. "It was way too short."

"Yeah," Sharon says, nodding seriously. "Boys always cut their hair too short. I don't know why you all think it looks good, because it doesn't."

Tony hums, but his eyes are crinkled.

"Anyway," Sharon continues, "you're lucky you're cute and have good hair, Tony Stark, or that haircut would've been atrocious. I think cute boys don't appreciate what they have enough. Like, why would you choose to have your hair that way instead of reaching your maximum potential?"

"I dunno," Tony says, indulging her. "You tell me." Bucky shares a look with the rest of the room, all of whom look just as at a loss for words as he is. Tony's talking to Sharon. Tony's enjoying talking to Sharon. What could Tony possibly be enjoying about talking to Sharon?

As Sharon goes off on a spiel about what makes or doesn't make a boy hot, Tony finally lifts his head to see everyone staring at him. "Wow," Clint murmurs, quietly enough that it doesn't distract Sharon from her rant. "That was one of the weirder things I've seen in my life."

Tony shrinks back a little but just shrugs, mouth quirking up. Sharon's been nothing but abrasive so far, and yet - there's something there that Tony likes, must like. Yeah, Bucky doesn't see it.

Finally, Sharon stops and waits expectantly. "You know your stuff," Tony notes, like he's been paying attention this whole time. "That's very impressive."

"I know," she says, and positively beams at him. "I like you, Tony Stark! The magazines don't do you justice. You know, most of the girls at my school think you're cute. Like, super cute. But they also say you're kind of a nerd. But that can be cute too, and besides, you're the kind of nerd who dates a lot of people. I think, in a few more years, you could be really hot. Once you grow up and stuff. Then maybe girls will stop focusing on pop singers and focus on you instead, if that's what you're going for." She looks at him with a critical eye. "Don't cut your hair though. It's really soft and tufty right now, and it's a good look. You might be getting a lot of girls right now, but you won't be if you cut all your successes away."

"So my success is based on my hair?" Tony says amusedly. God, Bucky wants to deck her.

"Yes," Sharon says emphatically. "Your face too, of course, but hair can really make or break a person. I would know."

"You seem to know a lot about hair," Tony says placidly. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Okay, enough," Clint finally butts in. Bucky breathes an internal sigh of relief. "How about we finish up eating and head home, or something?"

Sharon turns and gives him the nastiest glare Bucky's ever seen a fourteen year old pull off before. "I'm talking to Tony," she says, grabbing Tony's hand. "I'm helping him out."

"I wouldn't call that helping…," Clint starts, but then Steve sighs and stands up.

"Clint's right," he says gently. "We've been out at the lake for a pretty long time now. Let's head home."

Sharon softens up the tiniest bit but still huffs as she stands, still gripping Tony's hand. "Come on, Tony," she says with all the exasperation that voice can muster. "While the spoilsports lead us back, we can continue discussing."

 

For all that Sharon acts like a very strange fourteen year old and definitely not the kind of girl Tony would've touched with a ten foot pole at that age, he finds himself - surprisingly - enjoying talking to her. There's a very raw and direct quality about her despite the way it displays itself in bold, overt frankness. It's been a long time since he's gotten to know someone so damn honest and it's - well, it's refreshing. And she seems to not hate him yet, so that's a bonus, too.

She chatters all the way back to the car, not letting go of his hand even when their palms begin to get sweaty. Sharon's got a whole arsenal of things to talk about, including but not limited to cute boys at her school, weird celebrities, cool celebrities, trends, and politics. She's surprisingly invested in politics and especially global and social issues. She's also honestly like the little sister Tony's never had but always kind of secretly wanted.

"There are rumors that you're gay," she says halfway through their trek back. They're hanging out at the back of the group, so nobody but Sharon sees when Tony starts and looks at her in surprise. "Are you?"

Tony's never made an effort to hide his sexuality. Howard disapproves, but personally Tony thinks it's because Howard had never gotten his own chance to experiment or experience and is thus angry because of it, not because he's truly homophobic. Regardless of the fact, he's still startled by Sharon's question. "I mean," he says, then stops. "No. No, I'm not."

"What are you then?" Sharon persists. "Straight? It would suck if you were, but I guess it would also suck if you were gay. I think it's cool to have options, even if being straight is like, the trend for a lot of people."

"I'm pansexual," Tony says softly. Even after countless times of telling people who he likes, it still feels weird to say.

"Oh," Sharon says. "That's cool. When'd you find out?"

"Twelve, I think," Tony says. "But I called it 'bi' at the time."

"Huh." Sharon kicks up the snow in front of her. "I think I like girls, Tony. Is that okay?"

"Of course," Tony replies immediately, but he can't helping asking: "What about Steve?"

"Oh, yeah, Steve." Sharon bites her lower lip pensively. "Can you like just girls but like maybe one boy? Because I don't really like boys, except for Steve. Does it still count?"

Tony shrugs. "It definitely counts, but ultimately it's up to you to decide how you want to define yourself. Or you don't have to at all. Not everything can come with a definition."

"Okay," Sharon says, kicking up more snow. "That makes sense. You're a smart cookie, Tony. Not just academically."

It takes a lot of effort for Tony to hide his smile.

Once they've reached home, Sharon beelines straight for Steve again. She doesn't seem affected at all by Sunset's absence, and for that Tony is grateful. Clint comes sidling up to him within moments of her departure, smirking, and Tony's palms begin to sweat again. He's not sure what Barton wants, and honestly the guy's been much more harmless since the incident, but he's still learnt to be wary around people. His only saving grace is that at least people who've expressed dislike of him are typically less cunning than those who haven't. After all, he dated Sunset, and look where that got him.

"So, spill - what'd you and Small Fry over there talk about?" Barton says with a casual grin. "How was the conversation?"

"It was fine," Tony says slowly. "She's not that bad."

"Huh," Clint says, surprise sparking in his features. "Maybe it's because you've only known her for a day."

"She's honest," Tony says. He doesn't know what prompts him to continue, but he does. "I like that. Speaking her mind might get on a lot of people's nerves, but so far it's gone well for me."

Clint's looking at him strangely.

"I just…" Tony shrugs, twisting his hands into the hem of his sweatshirt so that his fingers are swathed in fabric. "It's nice. The honesty."

"Stop harassing Tony," Natasha says, coming up from behind Clint. She grabs Clint's hand and begins to tug him away. "Leave him alone so Bucky can talk to him instead."

"What's wrong with me talking to Stark?" Clint argues indignantly, but Natasha just snorts and drags him from the kitchen and into the living room.

Left leaning with his hip against the countertop, Tony spots Bucky heading to him and waits as the other boy makes his way over. Bucky looks at him and smiles a little in greeting, but it's a little off. A little crooked, like something's bothering him. "Hey. How was the talk with Sharon?"

"We talked about a lot of things, I guess," Tony says, a wry light softening his face as he thinks back to their conversation. "A lot of things about what's popular. I guess Sharon's very into the loop."

Bucky snorts. "From what I've heard, like you would not believe. I don't know how she has time t' sleep with all that stuff running through her head." There's a pause, and the two settle into something not quite like companionable silence, but almost. "So. Sunset's not welcome here anymore; I didn't tell Sarah anything, but she seemed t' know somethin' was off. Motherly instincts, maybe. But you won't have t' see her again. Unless you wanna go beat her up yourself."

"And go to jail for assault?" Tony says back. His chest fills up with the taste of something wounded, like bruised fruit, but for some reason - it doesn't hurt as much now, talking about it. Talking about her.

Bucky's mouth crooks up at the side. "Nah. I'd help you hide the body."

The dark humor startles a laugh out of Tony. "Have you been doing research?"

Bucky just taps the side of his head with a metal finger. "Just experience. This arm? Killed a robot and stole it. I've got my ways, Stark. Bain would never see what's comin'."

Bucky's comment draws up a sudden memory of making the arm for him. It seems almost like the fact that Bucky's wearing what he made comes up once again in startling clarity, and the playful banter recedes into an awkward silence.

"Tony?" Bucky's looking at him, concernedly now. "You okay?"

Tony shakes his head to clear his thoughts, then nods. "Yeah, sorry. Sorry. Just spaced out for a second."

"No need t' apologize," Bucky says easily. "Say, everyone's headin' upstairs now, and I'm kinda in the mood for a movie. You wanna watch anything?"

"Shawshank Redemption," Tony says back, mouth curving up a little. "Thought it might, you know, go well with the jail theme."

"Ah." Bucky heaves a dramatic sigh. "I suppose you want t' watch me cry when Brooks dies, huh? Alright, c'mon. Before Sharon suggests playin' Truth or Dare or somethin'."

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [NO SPOILERS] okay so um. i just can't believe it's finally over. ten years of growing with these characters, learning to love them, putting my heart and soul into loving them along with the millions of fans (including, probably, all of you guys) who love them too. and the huge ass tributes endgame put into the movie and the end-credits too... i mean, it hurts so much. it hurts so bad. but i am just so grateful to have been able to grow up in a time where i could love these people, and get to know them, even if they're fictitious. because who cares if the people you love are fictitious? you love them, and that should count for something.  
> i am so so so thankful to marvel and to all the cast and crew members and directors and writers and stan lee and just EVERYBODY for creating a universe that i have grown to love so much. other people grew up with pets; i grew up with marvel. and that is just so beautiful to me. that i was born into this generation. that i was born into the generation that grew up with such a wonderful franchise. and putting all these old pictures of the og 6 made me want to cry again, because...wow. from their young adult days in the 80s to now, look how far they've come. (if youre wondering what i mean by the og 6 pictures, tomorrow at school i'm going to be adding pictures from the avengers' younger days to the end of the chapter for nostalgia's sake. update: except i can't paste photos what how)  
> but most of all, i am so so so fucking thankful to robert downey jr. he is a god damn inspiration and he's given me strength, he's given me hope, he's given me a home. i love you 3000, tony stark. thank you for making me feel better when i'm going through tough times. thank you for making me laugh, making me cry, and introducing me to such a crazy and wonderful and explosive world full of people who aren't heroes or assassins or billionaires or relics - just good fucking people with good fucking hearts. and lastly, thank you - thank you to everyone so, SO much for giving me something to love with all my goddamn heart.


End file.
